/  ' 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY  / 

OF  CALIFORNIA  ' 
LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


Fl 

CINQ  MARS 

(VOL.  I.) 
By  ALFRED   DE  VIGNY 

Crowned   by    the    French    Academy 

^^AftJpW^lARlJES  DE 

MJfeAWof  the  French  Academy 
>m  (he  Painting  in  the  Mttste  Camaoalel,   Pans.] 

NEW   YORK 

Current  Literature  Publishing  Company 
1910 

CINQ  MARS 

(VOL.  I.) 
By  ALFRED   DE  VIGNY 

\ 

Crowned   by    the    French    Academy 

With  a  Preface  by  CHARLES    DE 
MAZADE,  of  the  French  Academy 

NEW   YORK 

Current  Literature  Publishing  Company 
1910 

COPYRIGHT  1905 

BY 
ROBERT  ARNOT 

COPYRIGHT  1910 

BY 
CURRENT  LITERATURE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

E  reputation  of  Alfred  de  Vigny  has 
endured  extraordinary  vicissitudes  in 
France.  First  he  was  lauded  as  the 
precursor  of  French  romantic  poetry 
and  stately  prose;  then  he  sank  in 
semi-oblivion,  became  the  curiosity  of 
criticism,  died  in  retirement,  and  was 
neglected  for  a  long  time,  until  the 
last  ten  years  or  so  produced  a  marked  revolution  of 
taste  in  France.  The  supremacy  of  Victor  Hugo  has 
been,  if  not  questioned,  at  least  mitigated ;  other  poets 
have  recovered  from  their  obscurity.  Lamartine  shines 
now  like  a  lamp  relighted ;  and  the  pure,  brilliant,  and 
profoundly  original  genius  of  Alfred  de  Vigny  now 
takes,  for  the  first  time,  its  proper  place  as  one  of  the 
main  illuminating  forces  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

It  was  not  until  one  hundred  years  after  this  poet's 
birth  that  it  became  clearly  recognized  that  he  is  one  of 
the  most  important  of  all  the  great  writers  of  France, 
and  he  is  distinguished  not  only  in  fiction,  but  also  in  po- 
etry and  the  drama.  He  is  a  follower  of  Andre  Chenier, 
Lamartine,  and  Victor  Hugo,  a  lyric  sun,  a  philosophic 
poet,  later,  perhaps  in  consequence  of  the  Revolution 
of  1830,  becoming  a  "  Symbolist"  He  has  been  held 
to  occupy  a  middle  ground  between  De  Musset  and 
[v] 

2042182 


PREFACE 

Chenier,  but  he  has  also  something  suggestive  of  Ma- 
dame de  Stael,  and,  artistically,  he  has  much  in  common 
with  Chateaubriand,  though  he  is  more  coldly  imper- 
sonal and  probably  much  more  sincere  in  his  philos- 
ophy. If  Sainte-Beuve,  however,  calls  the  poet  in  his 
Nouveaux  Lundis  a  "beautiful  angel,  who  has  been 
drinking  vinegar,"  then  the  modern  reader  needs  a 
strong  caution  against  malice  and  raillery,  if  not  jeal- 
ousy and  perfidy,  although  the  article  on  De  Vigny 
abounds  otherwise  with  excessive  critical  cleverness. 

At  times,  indeed,  under  the  cruel  deceptions  of  love, 
he  seemed  to  lose  faith  in  his  idealism ;  his  pessimism, 
nevertheless,  always  remained  noble,  restrained,  sym- 
pathetic, manifesting  itself  not  in  appeals  for  condo- 
lence, but  in  pitying  care  for  all  who  were  near  and  dear 
to  him.  Yet  his  lofty  prose  and  poetry,  interpenetrated 
with  the  stern  despair  of  pessimistic  idealism,  will  al- 
ways be  unintelligible  to  the  many.  As  a  poet,  De 
Vigny  appeals  to  the  chosen  few  alone.  In  his  dramas 
his  genius  is  more  emancipated  from  himself,  in  his 
novels  most  of  all.  It  is  by  these  that  he  is  most  widely 
known,  and  by  these  that  he  exercised  the  greatest  in- 
fluence on  the  literary  life  of  his  generation. 

Alfred- Victor,  Count  de  Vigny,  was  born  in  Loches, 
Touraine,  March  27,  1797.  His  father  was  an  army 
officer,  wounded  in  the  Seven  Years'  War.  Alfred,  after 
having  been  well  educated,  also  selected  a  military  ca- 
reer and  received  a  commission  in  the  "  Mousquetaires 
Rouges,"  in  1814,  when  barely  seventeen.  He  served 
until  1827,  "twelve  long  years  of  peace,"  then  re- 


PREFACE 

signed.  Already  in  1822  appeared  a  volume  of  Poemes 
which  was  hardly  noticed,  although  containing  poetry 
since  become  important  to  the  evolution  of  French 
verse:  La  Neige,  le  Cor,  le  Deluge,  Elva,  la  Fregate, 
etc.,  again  collected  in  Poemes  antiques  et  modernes 
(1826).  Other  poems  were  published  after  his  death  in 
Les  Destinees  (1864). 

Under  the  influence  of  Walter  Scott,  he  wrote  a  his- 
torical romance  in  1826,  Cinq-Mars,  ou  une  Conjur- 
ation sans  Louis  XIII.  It  met  with  the  most  brilliant 
and  decided  success  and  was  crowned  by  the  Academy. 
Cinq-Mars  will  always  be  remembered  as  the  earliest 
romantic  novel  in  France  and  the  greatest  and  most 
dramatic  picture  of  Richelieu  now  extant.  De  Vigny 
was  a  convinced  Anglophile,  well  acquainted  with  the 
writings  of  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  Byron,  Words- 
worth, Shelley,  Matthew  Arnold,  and  Leopardi.  He 
also  married  an  English  lady  in  1825— Lydia  Bunbury. 

Other  prose  works  are  Stello  (1832),  in  the  manner  of 
Sterne  and  Diderot,  and  Servitude  et  Grandeur  mili- 
taire  (1835),  the  language  of  which  is  as  caustic  as  that 
of  Merimee.  As  a  dramatist,  De  Vigny  produced  a 
translation  of  Othello — Le  More  de  Venice  (1829);  also 
La  Marechale  d'Ancre  (1832);  both  met  with  mod- 
erate success  only.  But  a  decided  "hit"  was  Chatter- 
ton  (1835),  an  adaption  from  his  prose-work  Stello,  ou 
les  Diables  bleus;  it  at  once  established  his  reputation 
on  the  stage ;  the  applause  was  most  prodigious,  and  in 
the  annals  of  the  French  theatre  can  only  be  compared 
with  that  of  Le  Cid.  It  was  a  great  victory  for  the 
Romantic  School,  and  the  type  of  Chatterton,  the 
[vii] 


PREFACE 

slighted  poet,  "  the  marvellous  boy,  the  sleepless  soul 
that  perished  in  his  pride,"  became  contagious  as  erst- 
while did  the  type  of  Werther. 

For  twenty  years  before  his  death  Alfred  de  Vigny 
wrote  nothing.  He  lived  in  retirement,  almost  a  rec- 
luse, in  La  Charente,  rarely  visiting  Paris.  Admitted 
into  L'  Academic  Franchise  in  1845,  he  describes  in  his 
Journal  (Pun  Poete  his  academic  visits  and  the  recep- 
tion held  out  to  him  by  the  members  of  L'Institut. 
This  work  appeared  posthumously  in  1867. 

He  died  in  Paris,  September  17,  1863. 


de  1'Acade'mic  Frangaise. 


Lviii] 


TRUTH  IN  ART 

study  of  social  progress  is  to-day 
not  less  needed  in  literature  than  is 
the  analysis  of  the  human  heart. 
We  live  in  an  age  of  universal  in- 
vestigation, and  of  exploration  of  the 
sources  of  all  movements.  France, 
for  example,  loves  at  the  same  time 
history  and  the  drama,  because  the 
one  explores  the  vast  destinies  of  humanity,  and  the 
other  the  individual  lot  of  man.  These  embrace  the 
whole  of  life.  But  it  is  the  province  of  religion,  of  phi- 
losophy, of  pure  poetry  only,  to  go  beyond  life,  beyond 
time,  into  eternity. 

Of  late  years  (perhaps  as  a  result  of  our  political 
changes)  art  has  borrowed  from  history  more  than 
ever.  All  of  us  have  our  eyes  fixed  on  our  chronicles, 
as  though,  having  reached  manhood  while  going  on 
toward  greater  things,  we  had  stopped  a  moment  to 
cast  up  the  account  of  our  youth  and  its  errors.  We 
have  had  to  double  the  interest  by  adding  to  it  recol- 
lection. 

As  France  has  carried  farther  than  other  nations 
this  love  of  facts,  and  as  I  had  chosen  a  recent  and 
well-remembered  epoch,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  ought 
not  to  imitate  those  foreigners  who  in  their  pictures 

[ix] 


TRUTH  IN  ART 

barely  show  in  the  horizon  the  men  who  dominate 
their  history.  I  placed  ours  in  the  foreground  of  the 
scene;  I  made  them  leading  actors  in  this  tragedy, 
wherever  I  endeavored  to  represent  the  three  kinds  of 
ambition  by  which  we  are  influenced,  and  with  them 
the  beauty  of  self-sacrifice  to  a  noble  ideal.  A  treatise 
on  the  fall  of  the  feudal  system;  on  the  position,  at 
home  and  abroad,  of  France  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury; on  foreign  alliances;  on  the  justice  of  parliaments 
or  of  secret  commissions,  or  on  accusations  of  sorcery, 
would  not  perhaps  have  been  read.  But  the  romance 
was  read. 

I  do  not  mean  to  defend  this  last  form  of  historical 
composition,  being  convinced  that  the  real  greatness 
of  a  work  lies  in  the  substance  of  the  author's  ideas 
and  sentiments,  and  not  in  the  literary  form  in  which 
they  are  dressed.  The  choice  of  a  certain  epoch  ne- 
cessitates a  certain  treatment — to  another  epoch  it 
would  be  unsuitable;  these  are  mere  secrets  of  the 
workshop  of  thought  which  there  is  no  need  of  dis- 
closing. What  is  the  use  of  theorizing  as  to  wherein 
lies  the  charm  that  moves  us?  We  hear  the  tones  of 
the  harp,  but  its  graceful  form  conceals  from  us  its 
frame  of  iron.  Nevertheless,  since  I  have  been  con- 
vinced that  this  book  possesses  vitality,  I  can  not  help 
throwing  out  some  reflections  on  the  liberty  which  the 
imagination  should  employ  in  weaving  into  its  tap- 
estry all  the  leading  figures  of  an  age,  and,  to  give 
more  consistency  to  their  acts,  in  making  the  reality 
of  fact  give  way  to  the  idea  which  each  of  them  should 
represent  in  the  eyes  of  posterity;  in  short,  on  the 


TRUTH  IN  ART 

difference  which  I  find  between  Truth  in  art  and  the 
True  in  fact. 

Just  as  we  descend  into  our  consciences  to  judge  of 
actions  which  our  minds  can  not  weigh,  can  we  not 
also  search  in  ourselves  for  the  feeling  which  gives 
birth  to  forms  of  thought,  always  vague  and  cloudy? 
We  shall  find  in  our  troubled  hearts,  where  discord 
reigns,  two  needs  which  seem  at  variance,  but  which 
merge,  as  I  think,  in  a  common  source — the  love  of  the 
true,  and  the  love  of  the  fabulous. 

On  the  day  when  man  told  the  story  of  his  life  to 
man,  history  was  born.  Of  what  use  is  the  memory  of 
facts,  if  not  to  serve  as  an  example  of  good  or  of  evil  ? 
But  the  examples  which  the  slow  train  of  events  pre- 
sents to  us  are  scattered  and  incomplete.  They  lack 
always  a  tangible  and  visible  coherence  leading  straight 
on  to  a  moral  conclusion.  The  acts  of  the  human 
race  on  the  world's  stage  have  doubtless  a  coherent 
unity,  but  the  meaning  of  the  vast  tragedy  enacted  will 
be  visible  only  to  the  eye  of  God,  until  the  end,  which 
will  reveal  it  perhaps  to  the  last  man.  All  systems  of 
philosophy  have  sought  in  vain  to  explain  it,  ceaselessly 
rolling  up  their  rock,  which,  never  reaching  the  top, 
falls  back  upon  them — each  raising  its  frail  structure 
on  the  ruins  of  the  others,  only  to  see  it  fall  in  its 
turn. 

I  think,  then,  that  man,  after  having  satisfied  his 
first  longing  for  facts,  wanted  something  fuller — some 
grouping,  some  adaptation  to  his  capacity  and  ex- 
perience, of  the  links  of  this  vast  chain  of  events  which 
his  sight  could  not  take  in.  Thus  he  hoped  to  find  in 


TRUTH  IN  ART 

the  historic  recital  examples  which  might  support  the 
moral  truths  of  which  he  was  conscious.  Few  single 
careers  could  satisfy  this  longing,  being  only  incom- 
plete parts  of  the  elusive  whole  of  the  history  of  the 
world;  one  was  a  quarter,  as  it  were,  the  other  a  half 
of  the  proof;  imagination  did  the  rest  and  completed 
them.  From  this,  without  doubt,  sprang  the  fable. 
Man  created  it  thus,  because  it  was  not  given  him  to 
see  more  than  himself  and  nature,  which  surrounds 
him;  but  he  created  it  true  with  a  truth  all  its  own. 

This  Truth,  so  beautiful,  so  intellectual,  which  I 
feel,  I  see,  and  long  to  define,  the  name  of  which  I 
here  venture  to  distinguish  from  that  of  the  True,  that 
I  may  the  better  make  myself  understood,  is  the  soul 
of  all  the  arts.  It  is  the  selection  of  the  characteristic 
token  in  all  the  beauties  and  the  grandeurs  of  the  visi- 
ble True;  but  it  is  not  the  thing  itself,  it  is  something 
better:  it  is  an  ideal  combination  of  its  principal  forms, 
a  luminous  tint  made  up  of  its  brightest  colors,  an  in- 
toxicating balm  of  its  purest  perfumes,  a  delicious 
elixir  of  its  best  juices,  a  perfect  harmony  of  its  sweetest 
sounds — in  short,  it  is  a  concentration  of  all  its  good 
qualities.  For  this  Truth,  and  nothing  else,  should 
strive  those  works  of  art  which  are  a  moral  representa- 
tion of  life — dramatic  works.  To  attain  it,  the  first 
step  is  undoubtedly  to  learn  all  that  is  true  in  fact  of 
every  period,  to  become  deeply  imbued  with  its  general 
character  and  with  its  details;  this  involves  only  a 
cheap  tribute  of  attention,  of  patience,  and  of  memory. 
But  then  one  must  fix  upon  some  chosen  centre,  and 
group  everything  around  it;  this  is  the  work  of  im- 


TRUTH  IN  ART 

agination,  and  of  that  sublime  common-sense  which  is 
genius  itself. 

Of  what  use  were  the  arts  if  they  were  only  the  re- 
production and  the  imitation  of  life?  Good  heavens! 
we  see  only  too  clearly  about  us  the  sad  and  disen- 
chanting reality — the  insupportable  lukewarmness  of 
feeble  characters,  of  shallow  virtues  and  vices,  of 
irresolute  loves,  of  tempered  hates,  of  wavering  friend- 
ships, of  unsettled  beliefs,  of  constancy  which  has  its 
height  and  its  depth,  of  opinions  which  evaporate. 
Let  us  dream  that  once  upon  a  time  have  lived  men 
stronger  and  greater,  who  were  more  determined  for 
good  or  for  evil;  that  does  us  good.  If  the  paleness  of 
your  True  is  to  follow  us  into  art,  we  shall  close  at 
once  the  theatre  and  the  book,  to  avoid  meeting  it  a 
second  time.  What  is  wanted  of  works  which  revive 
the  ghosts  of  human  beings  is,  I  repeat,  the  philo- 
sophical spectacle  of  man  deeply  wrought  upon  by  the 
passions  of  his  character  and  of  his  epoch;  it  is,  in 
short,  the  artistic  Truth  of  that  man  and  that  epoch, 
but  both  raised  to  a  higher  and  ideal  power,  which 
concentrates  all  their  forces.  You  recognize  this 
Truth  in  works  of  the  imagination  just  as  you  cry  out 
at  the  resemblance  of  a  portrait  of  which  you  have 
never  seen  the  original;  for  true  talent  paints  life 
rather  than  the  living. 

To  banish  finally  the  scruples  on  this  point  of  the 
consciences  of  some  persons,  timorous  in  literary  mat- 
ters, whom  I  have  seen  affected  with  a  personal  sorrow 
on  viewing  the  rashness  with  which  the  imagination 
sports  with  the  most  weighty  characters  of  history,  I 


TRUTH  IN  ART 

will  hazard  the  assertion  that,  not  throughout  this 
work,  I  dare  not  say  that,  but  in  many  of  these  pages, 
and  those  perhaps  not  of  the  least  merit,  history  is  a 
romance  of  which  the  people  are  the  authors.  The 
human  mind,  I  believe,  cares  for  the  True  only  in  the 
general  character  of  an  epoch.  What  it  values  most 
of  all  is  the  sum  total  of  events  and  the  advance  of 
civilization,  which  carries  individuals  along  with  it; 
but,  indifferent  to  details,  it  cares  less  to  have  them 
real  than  noble  or,  rather,  grand  and  complete. 

Examine  closely  the  origin  of  certain  deeds,  of  cer- 
tain heroic  expressions,  which  are  born  one  knows  not 
how;  you  will  see  them  leap  out  ready-made  from 
hearsay  and  the  murmurs  of  the  crowd,  without  having 
in  themselves  more  than  a  shadow  of  truth,  and,  never- 
theless, they  will  remain  historical  forever.  As  if  by 
way  of  pleasantry,  and  to  put  a  joke  upon  posterity, 
the  public  voice  invents  sublime  utterances  to  mark, 
during  their  lives  and  under  their  very  eyes,  men  who, 
confused,  avow  themselves  as  best  they  may,  as  not  de- 
serving of  so  much  glory  *  and  as  not  being  able  to  sup- 

*  In  our  time  has  not  a  Russian  General  denied  the  fire  of  Moscow, 
which  we  have  made  heroic,  and  which  will  remain  so?  Has  not  a 
French  General  denied  that  utterance  on  the  field  of  Waterloo  which 
will  immortalize  it?  And  if  I  were  not  withheld  by  my  respect  for  a 
sacred  event,  I  might  recall  that  a  priest  has  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to 
disavow  in  public  a  sublime  speech  which  will  remain  the  noblest  that 
has  ever  been  pronounced  on  a  scaffold  :  "  Son  of  Saint  Louis,  rise  to 
heaven  !  "  When  I  learned  not  long  ago  its  real  author,  I  was  over- 
come by  the  destruction  of  my  illusion,  but  before  long  I  was  consoled 
by  a  thought  that  does  honor  to  humanity  in  my  eyes.  I  feel  that 
France  has  consecrated  this  speech,  because  she  felt  the  need  of  re- 
establishing herself  in  her  own  eyes,  of  blinding  herself  to  her  awful 
error,  and  of  believing  that  then  and  there  an  honest  man  was  found 
who  dared  to  speak  aloud. 


TRUTH  IN  ART 

port  so  high  renown.  In  vain ;  their  disclaimers  are  not 
received.  Let  them  cry  out,  let  them  write,  let  them 
print,  let  them  sign — they  are  not  listened  to.  These 
utterances  are  inscribed  in  bronze;  the  poor  fellows 
remain  historical  and  sublime  in  spite  of  themselves. 
And  I  do  not  find  that  all  this  is  done  in  the  ages 
of  barbarism  alone;  it  is  still  going  on,  and  it  molds 
the  history  of  yesterday  to  the  taste  of  public  opinion 
— a  Muse  tyrannical  and  capricious,  which  preserves 
the  general  purport  and  scorns  detail. 

Which  of  you  knows  not  of  such  transformation  ? 
Do  you  not  see  with  your  own  eyes  the  chrysalis  fact 
assume  by  degrees  the  wings  of  fiction  ?  Half  formed 
by  the  necessities  of  the  time,  a  fact  is  hidden  in  the 
ground  obscure  and  incomplete,  rough,  misshapen,  like 
a  block  of  marble  not  yet  rough-hewn.  The  first 
who  unearth  it,  and  take  it  in  hand,  would  wish  it 
differently  shaped,  and  pass  it,  already  a  little  round- 
ed, into  other  hands;  others  polish  it  as  they  pass 
it  along;  in  a  short  time  it  is  exhibited  transformed 
into  an  immortal  statue.  We  disclaim  it;  witnesses 
who  have  seen  and  heard  pile  refutations  upon  ex- 
planations; the  learned  investigate,  pore  over  books, 
and  write.  No  one  listens  to  them  any  more  than  to 
the  humble  heroes  who  disown  it;  the  torrent  rolls  on 
and  bears  with  it  the  whole  thing  under  the  form  which 
it  has  pleased  it  to  give  to  these  individual  actions. 
What  was  needed  for  all  this  work?  A  nothing,  a 
word;  sometimes  the  caprice  of  a  journalist  out  of 
work.  And  are  we  the  losers  by  it?  No.  The 
adopted  fact  is  always  better  composed  than  the  real 


TRUTH  IN  ART 

one,  and  it  is  even  adopted  only  because  it  is  better. 
The  human  race  feels  a  need  that  its  destinies  should 
afford  it  a  series  of  lessons;  more  careless  than  we  think 
of  the  reality  of  facts,  it  strives  to  perfect  the  event  in 
order  to  give  it  a  great  moral  significance,  feeling  sure 
that  the  succession  of  scenes  which  it  plays  upon  earth 
is  not  a  comedy,  and  that  since  it  advances,  it  marches 
toward  an  end,  of  which  the  explanation  must  be 
sought  beyond  what  is  visible. 

For  my  part,  I  acknowledge  my  gratitude  to  the 
voice  of  the  people  for  this  achievement;  for  often  in 
the  finest  life  are  found  strange  blemishes  and  incon- 
sistencies which  pain  me  when  I  see  them.  If  a  man 
seems  to  me  a  perfect  model  of  a  grand  and  noble 
character,  and  if  some  one  comes  and  tells  me  of  a 
mean  trait  which  disfigures  him,  I  am  saddened  by  it, 
even  though  I  do  not  know  him,  as  by  a  misfortune 
which  affects  me  in  person;  and  I  could  almost 
wish  that  he  had  died  before  the  change  in  his  char- 
acter. 

Thus,  when  the  Muse  (and  I  give  that  name  to  art 
as  a  whole,  to  everything  which  belongs  to  the  domain 
of  imagination,  almost  in  the  same  way  as  the  ancients 
gave  the  name  of  Music  to  all  education),  when  the 
Muse  has  related,  in  her  impassioned  manner,  the 
adventures  of  a  character  whom  I  know  to  have  lived ; 
and  when  she  reshapes  his  experiences  into  conformity 
with  the  strongest  idea  of  vice  or  virtue  which  can  be 
conceived  of  him — filling  the  gaps,  veiling  the  incon- 
gruities of  his  life,  and  giving  him  that  perfect  unity  of 
conduct  which  we  like  to  see  represented  even  in  evil— 
[xvij 


TRUTH  IN  ART 

if,  in  addition  to  this,  she  preserves  the  only  thing 
essential  to  the  instruction  of  the  world,  the  spirit  of 
the  epoch,  I  know  no  reason  why  we  should  be  more 
exacting  with  her  than  with  this  voice  of  the  people 
which  every  day  makes  every  fact  undergo  so  great 
changes. 

The  ancients  carried  this  liberty  even  into  history; 
they  wanted  to  see  in  it  only  the  general  march,  and 
broad  movements  of  peoples  and  nations;  and  on  these 
great  movements,  brought  to  view  in  courses  very 
distinct  and  very  clear,  they  placed  a  few  colossal 
figures — symbols  of  noble  character  and  of  lofty 
purpose. 

One  might  almost  reckon  mathematically  that,  hav- 
ing undergone  the  double  composition  of  public  opinion 
and  of  the  author,  their  history  reaches  us  at  third 
hand  and  is  thus  separated  by  two  stages  from  the 
original  fact. 

It  is  because  in  their  eyes  history  too  was  a  work  of 
art;  and  in  consequence  of  not  having  realized  that 
such  is  its  real  nature,  the  whole  Christian  world  still 
lacks  an  historical  monument  like  those  which  domi- 
nate antiquity  and  consecrate  the  memory  of  its  desti- 
nies— as  its  pyramids,  its  obelisks,  its  pylons,  and  its 
porticos  still  dominate  the  earth  which  was  known  to 
them,  and  thereby  commemorate  the  grandeur  of  an- 
tiquity. 

If,  then,  we  find  everywhere  evidence  of  this  inclina- 
tion to  desert  the  positive,  to  bring  the  ideal  even  into 
historic  annals,  I  believe  that  with  greater  reason  we 
should  be  completely  indifferent  to  historical  reality  in 
[  xvii  ] 


TRUTH  IN  ART 

judging  the  dramatic  works,  whether  poems,  roman- 
ces, or  tragedies,  which  borrow  from  history  celebrated 
characters.  Art  ought  never  to  be  considered  except 
in  its  relations  with  its  ideal  beauty.  Let  it  be  said 
that  what  is  true  in  fact  is  secondary  merely;  it  is  only 
an  illusion  the  more  with  which  it  adorns  itself — one  of 
our  prejudices  which  it  respects.  It  can  do  without  it, 
for  the  Truth  by  which  it  must  live  is  the  truth  of  ob- 
servation of  human  nature,  and  not  authenticity  of  fact. 
The  names  of  the  characters  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  matter.  The  idea  is  everything;  the  proper  name 
is  only  the  example  and  the  proof  of  the  idea. 

So  much  the  better  for  the  memory  of  those  who  are 
chosen  to  represent  philosophical  or  moral  ideas;  but, 
once  again,  that  is  not  the  question.  The  imagination 
can  produce  just  as  fine  things  without  them;  it  is  a 
power  wholly  creative;  the  imaginary  beings  which  it 
animates  are  endowed  with  life  as  truly  as  the  real 
beings  which  it  brings  to  life  again.  We  believe  in 
Othello  as  we  do  in  Richard  III.,  whose  tomb  is  in 
Westminster;  in  Lovelace  and  Clarissa  as  in  Paul 
and  Virginia,  whose  tombs  are  in  the  Isle  of  France. 
It  is  with  the  same  eye  that  we  must  watch  the  per- 
formance of  its  characters,  and  demand  of  the  Muse 
only  her  artistic  Truth,  more  lofty  than  the  True — 
whether  collecting  the  traits  of  a  character  dispersed 
among  a  thousand  entire  individuals,  she  composes 
from  them  a  type  whose  name  alone  is  imaginary;  or 
whether  she  goes  to  their  tomb  to  seek  and  to  touch 
with  her  galvanic  current  the  dead  whose  great  deeds 
are  known,  forces  them  to  arise  again,  and  drags  them 

[  xviii  1 


TRUTH  IN  ART 

dazzled  to  the  light  of  day,  where,  in  the  circle  which 
this  fairy  has  traced,  they  re-assume  unwillingly  their 
passions  of  other  days,  and  begin  again  in  the  sight 
of  their  descendants  the  sad  drama  of  life. 

ALFRED  DE  VIGNY. 
1827. 


[xix] 


CONTENTS 


VOLUME  I 
CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

THE  ADIEU  .................      J 

CHAPTER  II 
THE  STREET      ................    3° 

CHAPTER  III 
THE  GOOD  PRIEST     ..............    44 

CHAPTER  IV 
THE  TRIAL  .................    60 

CHAPTER  V 
THE  MARTYRDOM  .    .    .    .    ,    ..........    74 

CHAPTER  VI 
THE  DREAM      ........    ........    87 

CHAPTER  VII 
THE  CABINET   ..............    .    .    99 

CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  INTERVIEW    ...............  129 

[xxi] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  IX 

PAGE 

THE  SIEGE 146 

CHAPTER  X 
THE  RECOMPENSE 163 

CHAPTER  XI 
THE  BLUNDERS 179 

CHAPTER  XII 
THE  NIGHT-WATCH 194 

CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  SPANIARD 216 

CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  RIOT 230 

CHAPTER  XV 
THE  ALCOVE 251 

CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  CONFUSION 270 

CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  TOILETTE  .  .  281 


[rrii] 


CINQ-MARS 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  ADIEU 

Fare  thee  well!  and  if  forever, 
Still  forever  fare  thee  well! 

LORD  BYRON. 

O  you  know  that  charming  part  of 
our  country  which  has  been  called 
the  garden  of  France — that  spot 
where,  amid  verdant  plains  watered 
by  wide  streams,  one  inhales  the 
purest  air  of  heaven  ? 

If  you  have  travelled  through  fair 
Touraine  in  summer,  you  have  no 
doubt  followed  with  enchantment  the  peaceful  Loire; 
you  have  regretted  the  impossibility  of  determining 
upon  which  of  its  banks  you  would  choose  to  dwell 
with  your  beloved.  On  its  right  bank  one  sees  valleys 
dotted  with  white  houses  surrounded  by  woods,  hills 
yellow  with  vines  or  white  with  the  blossoms  of  the  cher- 
ry-tree, walls  covered  with  honeysuckles,  rose-gardens, 
from  which  pointed  roofs  rise  suddenly.  Everything 
reminds  the  traveller  either  of  the  fertility  of  the  land 
or  of  the  antiquity  of  its  monuments;  and  everything 
interests  him  in  the  work  of  its  busy  inhabitants. 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

Nothing  has  proved  useless  to  them;  it  seems  as  if  in 
their  love  for  so  beautiful  a  country — the  only  province 
of  France  never  occupied  by  foreigners — they  have 
determined  not  to  lose  the  least  part  of  its  soil,  the 
smallest  grain  of  its  sand.  Do  you  fancy  that  this 
ruined  tower  is  inhabited  only  by  hideous  night-birds  ? 
No;  at  the  sound  of  your  horse's  hoofs,  the  smiling  face 
of  a  young  girl  peeps  out  from  the  ivy,  whitened  with 
the  dust  from  the  road.  If  you  climb  a  hillside  cov- 
ered with  vines,  a  light  column  of  smoke  shows  you 
that  there  is  a  chimney  at  your  feet;  for  the  very  rock 
is  inhabited,  and  families  of  vine-dressers  breathe  in  its 
caverns,  sheltered  at  night  by  the  kindly  earth  which 
they  laboriously  cultivate  during  the  day.  The  good 
people  of  Touraine  are  as  simple  as  their  life,  gentle 
as  the  air  they  breathe,  and  strong  as  the  powerful 
earth  they  dig.  Their  countenances,  like  their  char- 
acters, have  something  of  the  frankness  of  the  true 
people  of  St.-Louis;  their  chestnut  locks  are  still  long 
and  curve  around  their  ears,  as  in  the  stone  statues  of 
our  old  kings;  their  language  is  the  purest  French, 
with  neither  slowness,  haste,  nor  accent — the  cradle  of 
the  language  is  there,  close  to  the  cradle  of  the  mon- 
archy. 

But  the  left  bank  of  the  stream  has  a  more  serious 
aspect;  in  the  distance  you  see  Chambord,  which, 
with  its  blue  domes  and  little  cupolas,  appears  like 
some  great  city  of  the  Orient;  there  is  Chanteloup, 
raising  its  graceful  pagoda  in  the  air.  Near  these  a 
simpler  building  attracts  the  eyes  of  the  traveller  by  its 
magnificent  situation  and  imposing  size;  it  is  the  cha- 

[2] 


CINQ-MARS 

teau  of  Chaumont.  Built  upon  the  highest  hill  of  the 
shore,  it  frames  the  broad  summit  with  its  lofty  walls 
and  its  enormous  towers;  high  slate  steeples  increase 
their  loftiness,  and  give  to  the  building  that  conventual 
air,  that  religious  form  of  all  our  old  chateaux,  which 
casts  an  aspect  of  gravity  over  the  landscape  of  most 
of  our  provinces.  Black  and  tufted  trees  surround 
this  ancient  mansion,  resembling  from  afar  the  plumes 
that  encircled  the  hat  of  King  Henry.  At  the  foot  of 
the  hill,  connected  with  the  chateau  by  a  narrow  path, 
lies  a  pretty  village,  whose  white  houses  seem  to  have 
sprung  from  the  golden  sand;  a  chapel  stands  half- 
way up  the  hill;  the  lords  descended  and  the  villagers 
ascended  to  its  altar — the  region  of  equality,  situated 
like  a  neutral  spot  between  poverty  and  riches,  which 
have  been  too  often  opposed  to  each  other  in  bitter 
conflict. 

Here,  one  morning  in  the  month  of  June,  1639,  the 
bell  of  the  chateau  having,  as  usual,  rung  at  midday, 
the  dinner-hour  of  the  family,  occurrences  of  an  un- 
usual kind  were  passing  in  this  ancient  dwelling.  The 
numerous  domestics  observed  that  in  repeating  the 
morning  prayers  before  the  assembled  household,  the 
Marechale  d'Effiat  had  spoken  with  a  broken  voice 
and  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  that  she  had  appeared 
in  a  deeper  mourning  than  was  customary.  The  peo- 
ple of  the  household  and  the  Italians  of  the  Duchesse 
de  Mantua,  who  had  at  that  time  retired  for  a  while  to 
Chaumont,  saw  with  surprise  that  sudden  preparations 
were  being  made  for  departure.  The  old  domestic  of 
the  Marcchal  d'Effiat  (who  had  been  dead  six  months) 
[3] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

had  taken  again  to  his  travelling-boots,  which  he  had 
sworn  to  abandon  forever.  This  brave  fellow,  named 
Grandchamp,  had  followed  the  chief  of  the  family 
everywhere  in  the  wars,  and  in  his  financial  work;  he 
had  been  his  equerry  in  the  former,  and  his  secretary 
in  the  latter.  He  had  recently  returned  from  Ger- 
many, to  inform  the  mother  and  the  children  of  the 
death  of  the  Marechal,  whose  last  sighs  he  had  heard 
at  Luzzelstein.  He  was  one  of  those  faithful  servants 
who  are  become  too  rare  in  France;  who  suffer  with 
the  misfortunes  of  the  family,  and  rejoice  with  their 
joys;  who  approve  of  early  marriages,  that  they  may 
have  young  masters  to  educate;  who  scold  the  chil- 
dren and  often  the  fathers;  who  risk  death  for  them; 
who  serve  without  wages  in  revolutions;  who  toil  for 
their  support;  and  who  in  prosperous  times  follow 
them  everywhere,  or  exclaim  at  their  return,  "Behold 
our  vines!"  He  had  a  severe  and  remarkable  face, 
a  coppery  complexion,  and  silver-gray  hair,  in  which, 
however,  some  few  locks,  black  as  his  heavy  eyebrows, 
made  him  appear  harsh  at  first;  but  a  gentle  counte- 
nance softened  this  first  impression.  At  present  his 
voice  was  loud.  He  busied  himself  much  that  day  in 
hastening  the  dinner,  and  ordered  about  all  the  ser- 
vants, who  were  in  mourning  like  himself. 

"Come,"  said  he,  "make  haste  to  serve  the  dinner, 
while  Germain,  Louis,  and  Etienne  saddle  their  horses ; 
Monsieur  Henri  and  I  must  be  far  away  by  eight 
o'clock  this  evening.  And  you,  gentlemen,  Italians, 
have  you  warned  your  young  Princess  ?  I  wager  that 
she  is  gone  to  read  with  her  ladies  at  the  end  of  the 
[4] 


CINQ-MARS 

park,  or  on  the  banks  of  the  lake.  She  always  comes 
in  after  the  first  course,  and  makes  every  one  rise  from 
the  table." 

"Ah,  my  good  Grandchamp,"  said  in  a  low  voice  a 
young  maid  servant  who  was  passing,  "do  not  speak  of 
the  Duchess;  she  is  very  sorrowful,  and  I  believe  that 
she  will  remain  in  her  apartment.  Santa  Maria!  what 
a  shame  to  travel  to-day!  to  depart  on  a  Friday,  the 
thirteenth  of  the  month,  and  the  day  of  Saint  Gervais 
and  of  Saint-Protais — the  day  of  two  martyrs!  I  have 
been  telling  my  beads  all  the  morning  for  Monsieur  de 
Cinq-Mars;  and  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  these 
things.  And  my  mistress  thinks  of  them  too,  although 
she  is  a  great  lady;  so  you  need  not  laugh!" 

With  these  words  the  young  Italian  glided  like  a 
bird  across  the  large  dining-room,  and  disappeared 
down  a  corridor,  startled  at  seeing  the  great  doors  of 
the  salon  opened. 

Grandchamp  had  hardly  heard  what  she  had  said, 
and  seemed  to  have  been  occupied  only  with  the  prep- 
arations for  dinner;  he  fulfilled  the  important  duties 
of  major-domo,  and  cast  severe  looks  at  the  domestics 
to  see  whether  they  were  all  at  their  posts,  placing 
himself  behind  the  chair  of  the  eldest  son  of  the  house. 
Then  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  mansion  entered  the 
salon.  Eleven  persons  seated  themselves  at  table. 
The  Marechale  came  in  last,  giving  her  arm  to  a  hand- 
some old  man,  magnificently  dressed,  whom  she  placed 
upon  her  left  hand.  She  seated  herself  in  a  large 
gilded  armchair  at  the  middle  of  one  side  of  the  table, 
which  was  oblong  in  form.  Another  seat,  rather  more 
[5] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

ornamented,  was  at  her  right,  but  it  remained  empty. 
The  young  Marquis  d'Effiat,  seated  in  front  of  his 
mother,  was  to  assist  her  in  doing  the  honors  of  the 
table.  He  was  not  more  than  twenty  years  old,  and 
his  countenance  was  insignificant;  much  gravity  and 
distinguished  manners  proclaimed,  however,  a  social 
nature,  but  nothing  more.  His  young  sister  of  four- 
teen, two  gentlemen  of  the  province,  three  young 
Italian  noblemen  of  the  suite  of  Marie  de  Gonzaga 
(Duchesse  de  Mantua),  a  lady-in-waiting,  the  gov- 
erness of  the  young  daughter  of  the  Marechale,  and 
an  abbe  of  the  neighborhood,  old  and  very  deaf,  com- 
posed the  assembly.  A  seat  at  the  right  of  the  elder 
son  still  remained  vacant. 

The  Marechale,  before  seating  herself,  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  and  repeated  the  Benedicite  aloud;  every 
one  responded  by  making  the  complete  sign,  or  upon 
the  breast  alone.  This  custom  was  preserved  in  many 
families  in  France  up  to  the  Revolution  of  1789;  some 
still  practise  it,  but  more  in  the  provinces  than  in  Paris, 
and  not  without  some  hesitation  and  some  preliminary 
words  upon  the  weather,  accompanied  by  a  depreca- 
tory smile  when  a  stranger  is  present — for  it  is  too  true 
that  virtue  also  has  its  blush. 

The  Marechale  possessed  an  imposing  figure,  and 
her  large  blue  eyes  were  remarkably  beautiful.  She 
did  not  appear  to  have  yet  attained  her  forty- fifth 
year;  but,  oppressed  with  sorrow,  she  walked  slowly 
and  spoke  with  difficulty,  closing  her  eyes,  and  allow- 
ing her  head  to  droop  for  a  moment  upon  her  breast, 
after  she  had  been  obliged  to  raise  her  voice.  At  such 
[6] 


CINQ-MARS 

efforts  ner  iiand  pressed  to  her  bosom  showed  that  she 
experienced  sharp  pain.  She  saw  therefore  with  satis- 
faction that  the  person  who  was  seated  at  her  left, 
having  at  the  beginning  engrossed  the  conversation, 
without  having  been  requested  by  any  one  to  talk,  per- 
sisted with  an  imperturbable  coolness  in  engrossing  it 
to  the  end  of  the  dinner.  This  was  the  old  Marechal 
de  Bassompierre ;  he  had  preserved  with  his  white 
locks  an  air  of  youth  and  vivacity  curious  to  see.  His 
noble  and  polished  manners  showed  a  certain  gallantry, 
antiquated  like  his  costume — for  he  wore  a  ruff  in  the 
fashion  of  Henri  IV,  and  the  slashed  sleeves  fashiona- 
ble in  the  former  reign,  an  absurdity  which  was  unpar- 
donable in  the  eyes  of  the  beaux  of  the  court.  This 
would  not  have  appeared  more  singular  than  anything 
else  at  present;  but  it  is  admitted  that  in  every  age  we 
laugh  at  the  costume  of  our  fathers,  and,  except  the 
Orientals,  I  know  of  no  people  who  have  not  this 
fault. 

One  of  the  Italian  gentlemen  had  hardly  finished 
asking  the  Marechal  what  he  thought  of  the  way  in 
which  the  Cardinal  treated  the  daughter  of  the  Due  de 
Mantua,  when  he  exclaimed,  in  his  familiar  language : 

"Heavens,  man!  what  are  you  talking  about?  what 
do  I  comprehend  of  this  new  system  under  which 
France  is  living?  We  old  companions-in-arms  of  his 
late  Majesty  can  ill  understand  the  language  spoken 
by  the  new  court,  and  that  in  its  turn  does  not  compre- 
hend ours.  But  what  do  I  say?  We  speak  no  lan- 
guage in  this  sad  country,  for  all  the  world  is  silent 
before  the  Cardinal;  this  haughty  little  vassal  looks 
[7] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

upon  us  as  merely  old  family  portraits,  which  occasion- 
ally he  shortens  by  the  head;  but  happily  the  motto 
always  remains.  Is  it  not  true,  my  dear  Puy-Lau- 
rens?" 

This  guest  was  about  the  same  age  as  the  Marechal, 
but,  being  more  grave  and  cautious,  he  answered  in 
vague  and  few  words,  and  made  a  sign  to  his  contem- 
porary in  order  to  induce  him  to  observe  the  unpleasant 
emotions  which  he  had  caused  the  mistress  of  the 
house  by  reminding  her  of  the  recent  death  of  her  hus- 
band and  in  speaking  thus  of  the  minister,  his  friend. 
But  it  was  in  vain,  for  Bassompierre,  pleased  with  the 
sign  of  half -approval,  emptied  at  one  draught  a  great 
goblet  of  wine — a  remedy  which  he  lauds  in  his  Me- 
moirs as  infallible  against  the  plague  and  against  re- 
serve; and  leaning  back  to  receive  another  glass  from 
his  esquire,  he  settled  himself  more  firmly  than  ever 
upon  his  chair,  and  in  his  favorite  ideas. 

"Yes,  we  are  in  the  way  here;  I  said  so  the  other 
day  to  my  dear  Due  de  Guise,  whom  they  have  ruined. 
They  count  the  minutes  that  we  have  to  live,  and 
shake  the  hour-glass  to  hasten  the  descent  of  its  sands. 
When  Monsieur  le  Cardinal-Due  observes  in  a  corner 
three  or  four  of  our  tall  figures,  who  never  quitted  the 
side  of  the  late  King,  he  feels  that  he  is  unable  to  move 
those  statues  of  iron,  and  that  to  do  it  would  require 
the  hand  of  a  great  man;  he  passes  quickly  by,  and 
dares  not  meddle  with  us,  who  fear  him  not.  He  be- 
lieves that  we  are  always  conspiring;  and  they  say  at 
this  very  moment  that  there  is  talk  of  putting  me  in 
the  Bastille." 

[8] 


CINQ-MARS 

"Eh!  Monsieur  le  Marechal,  why  do  you  delay  your 
departure?"  said  the  Italian.  "I  know  of  no  place, 
except  Flanders,  where  you  can  find  shelter." 

"Ah,  Monsieur!  you  do  not  know  me.  So  far  from 
flying,  I  sought  out  the  King  before  his  departure,  and 
told  him  that  I  did  so  in  order  to  save  people  the 
trouble  of  looking  for  me;  and  that  if  I  knew  when 
l.e  wished  to  send  me,  I  would  go  myself  without  be- 
ing taken.  He  was  as  kind  as  I  expected  him  to  be, 
and  said  to  me,  'What,  my  old  friend,  could  you  have 
thought  that  I  desired  to  send  you  there?  You  know 
well  that  I  love  you.'" 

"Ah,  my  dear  Marechal,  let  me  compliment  you," 
said  Madame  d'Effiat,  in  a  soft  voice.  "I  recognize 
the  benevolence  of  the  King  in  these  words ;  he  remem- 
bers the  affection  which  the  King,  his  father,  had  tow- 
ard you.  It  appears  to  me  that  he  always  accorded 
to  you  all  that  you  desired  for  your  friends,"  she  added, 
with  animation,  in  order  to  put  him  into  the  track  of 
praise,  and  to  beguile  him  from  the  discontent  which 
he  had  so  loudly  declared. 

"Assuredly,  Madame,"  answered  he;  "no  one  is 
more  willing  to  recognize  his  virtues  than  Francois 
de  Bassompierre.  I  shall  be  faithful  to  him  to  the 
end,  because  I  gave  myself,  body  and  fortune,  to  his 
father  at  a  ball;  and  I  swear  that,  with  my  consent  at 
least,  none  of  my  family  shall  ever  fail  in  their  duties 
toward  the  King  of  France.  Although  the  Besteins  are 
foreigners  and  Lorrains,  a  shake  of  the  hand  from 
Henri  IV  gained  us  forever.  My  greatest  grief  has 
been  to  see  my  brother  die  in  the  service  of  Spain; 
[9] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

and  I  have  just  written  to  my  nephew  to  say  that  I 
shall  disinherit  him  if  he  has  passed  over  to  the  Em- 
peror, as  report  says  he  has." 

One  of  the  gentlemen  guests  who  had  as  yet  been 
silent,  and  who  was  remarkable  for  the  profusion  of 
knots,  ribbons,  and  tags  which  covered  his  dress,  and 
for  the  black  cordon  of  the  Order  of  St.-Michael  which 
decorated  his  neck,  bowed,  observing  that  it  was  thus 
all  faithful  subjects  ought  to  speak. 

"I5  faith,  Monsieur  de  Launay,  you  deceive  yourself 
very  much,"  said  the  Marechal,  to  whom  the  recollec- 
tion of  his  ancestors  now  occurred;  "persons  of  our 
blood  are  subjects  only  at  our  own  pleasure,  for  God 
has  caused  us  to  be  born  as  much  lords  of  our  lands 
as  the  King  is  of  his.  When  I  came  to  France,  I  came 
at  my  ease,  accompanied  by  my  gentlemen  and  pages. 
I  perceive,  however,  that  the  farther  we  go,  the  more 
we  lose  sight  of  this  idea,  especially  at  the  court.  But 
here  is  a  young  man  who  arrives  very  opportunely  to 
hear  me." 

The  door  indeed  opened,  and  a  young  man  of  fine 
form  entered.  He  was  pale;  his  hair  was  brown,  his 
eyes  were  black,  his  expression  was  sad  and  reckless. 
This  was  Henri  d'Effiat,  Marquis  de  Cinq-Mars  (a 
name  taken  from  an  estate  of  his  family).  His  dress 
and  his  short  cloak  were  black;  a  collar  of  lace  fell 
from  his  neck  halfway  down  his  breast;  his  stout, 
small,  and  very  wide-spurred  boots  made  so  much 
noise  upon  the  flags  of  the  salon  that  his  approach  was 
heard  at  a  distance.  He  walked  directly  toward  the 
Marechale,  bowed  low,  and  kissed  her  hand. 
[10] 


CINQ-MARS 

"Well,  Henri,"  she  said,  "are  your  horses  ready? 
At  what  hour  do  you  depart?" 

"Immediately  after  dinner,  Madame,  if  you  will 
allow  me,"  said  he  to  his  mother,  with  the  ceremonious 
respect  of  the  times;  and  passing  behind  her,  he  saluted 
M.  de  Bassompierre  before  seating  himself  at  the  left 
of  his  eldest  brother. 

"Well,"  said  the  Marechal,  continuing  to  eat  with 
an  excellent  appetite,  "you  are  about  to  depart,  my 
son;  you  are  going  to  the  court — a  slippery  place 
nowadays.  I  am  sorry  for  your  sake  that  it  is  not  now 
what  it  used  to  be.  In  former  times,  the  court  was 
simply  the  drawing-room  of  the  King,  in  which  he 
received  his  natural  friends:  nobles  of  great  family, 
his  peers,  who  visited  him  to  show  their  devotion  and 
their  friendship,  lost  their  money  with  him,  and  accom- 
panied him  in  his  pleasure  parties,  but  never  received 
anything  from  him,  except  permission  to  bring  their 
vassals  with  them,  to  break  their  heads  in  his  service. 
The  honors  a  man  of  quality  received  did  not  enrich 
him,  for  he  paid  for  them  out  of  his  purse.  I  sold  an 
estate  for  every  grade  I  received;  the  title  of  colonel- 
general  of  the  Swiss  cost  me  four  hundred  thousand 
crowns,  and  at  the  baptism  of  the  present  King  I  had 
to  buy  a  costume  that  cost  me  a  hundred  thousand 
francs." 

"Ah!"  said  the  mistress  of  the  house,  smiling,  "you 
must  acknowledge  for  once  that  you  were  not  obliged 
to  do  that.  We  have  all  heard  of  your  splendid  dress 
of  pearls;  but  I  should  be  much  vexed  were  it  still  the 
custom  to  wear  such." 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"Oh,  Madame  la  Marquise,  do  not  fear,  those  times 
of  magnificence  never  will  return.  We  committed  fol- 
lies, no  doubt,  but  they  proved  our  independence;  it 
is  clear  that  it  would  then  have  been  hard  to  convert 
from  their  allegiance  to  the  King  adherents  who  were 
attached  to  him  by  love  alone,  and  whose  coronets  con- 
tained as  many  diamonds  as  his  own  locked-up  crown. 
It  is  also  certain  that  ambition  could  not  then  attack 
all  classes,  since  such  expenses  could  come  only  from 
rich  hands,  and  since  gold  comes  only  from  mines. 
Those  great  houses,  which  are  being  so  furiously  as- 
sailed, were  not  ambitious,  and  frequently,  desiring  no 
employment  from  the  Government,  maintained  their 
places  at  court  by  their  own  weight,  existed  upon  their 
own  foundation,  and  might  say,  as  one  of  them  did 
say,  'The  Prince  condescends  not;  I  am  Rohan.'  It 
was  the  same  with  every  noble  family,  to  which  its  own 
nobility  sufficed ;  the  King  himself  expressed  it  in  writ- 
ing to  one  of  my  friends:  'Money  is  not  a  common 
thing  between  gentlemen  like  you  and  me.' " 

"But,  Monsieur  le  Marechal,"  coldly,  and  with  ex- 
treme politeness,  interrupted  M.  de  Launay,  who  per- 
haps intended  to  anger  him,  "this  independence  has 
produced  as  many  civil  wars  and  revolts  as  those  of 
Monsieur  de  Montmorency." 

"Monsieur!  I  can  not  consent  to  hear  these  things 
spoken,"  said  the  fiery  Marechal,  leaping  up  in  his  arm- 
chair. "Those  revolts  and  wars  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  fundamental  laws  of  the  State,  and  could  no 
more  have  overturned  the  throne  than  a  duel  could 
have  done  so.  Of  all  the  great  party-chiefs,  there  was 

[12] 


CINQ-MARS 

not  one  who  would  not  have  laid  his  victory  at  the  feet 
of  the  King,  had  he  succeeded,  knowing  well  that  all 
the  other  lords  who  were  as  great  as  himself  would 
have  abandoned  the  enemy  of  the  legitimate  sovereign. 
Arms  were  taken  against  a  faction,  and  not  against  the 
sovereign  authority;  and,  this  destroyed,  everything 
went  on  again  in  the  old  way.  But  what  have  you 
done  in  crushing  us?  You  have  crushed  the  arm  of 
the  throne,  and  have  not  put  any  tiling  in  its  place. 
Yes,  I  no  longer  doubt  that  the  Cardinal-Duke  will 
wholly  accomplish  his  design;  the  great  nobility  will 
leave  and  lose  their  lands,  and,  ceasing  to  be  great 
proprietors,  they  will  cease  to  be  a  great  power.  The 
court  is  already  no  more  than  a  palace  where  people 
beg;  by  and  by  it  will  become  an  antechamber,  when 
it  will  be  composed  only  of  those  who  constitute  the 
suite  of  the  King.  Great  names  will  begin  by  enno- 
bling vile  offices;  but,  by  a  terrible  reaction,  those  offices 
will  end  by  rendering  great  names  vile.  Estranged 
from  their  homes,  the  nobility  will  be  dependent  upon 
the  employments  which  they  shall  have  received;  and 
if  the  people,  over  whom  they  will  no  longer  have  any 
influence,  choose  to  revolt — 

"How  gloomy  you  are  to-day,  Marechal!"  inter- 
rupted the  Marquise;  "I  hope  that  neither  I  nor  my 
children  will  ever  see  that  time.  I  no  longer  perceive 
your  cheerful  disposition,  now  that  you  talk  like  a 
politician.  I  expected  to  hear  you  give  advice  to  my 
son.  Henri,  what  troubles  you?  You  seem  very 
absent." 

Cinq-Mars,  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  great  bay- 
[13] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

window  of  the  dining-room,  looked  sorrowfully  upon 
the  magnificent  landscape.  The  sun  shone  in  full 
splendor,  and  colored  the  sands  of  the  Loire,  the  trees, 
and  the  lawns  with  gold  and  emerald.  The  sky  was 
azure,  the  waves  were  of  a  transparent  yellow,  the  islets 
of  a  vivid  green;  behind  their  rounded  outlines  rose 
the  great  sails  of  the  merchant-vessels,  like  a  fleet  in 
ambuscade. 

"O  Nature,  Nature!"  he  mused;  "beautiful  Nature, 
farewell!  Soon  will  my  heart  cease  to  be  of  simplicity 
enough  to  feel  your  charm,  soon  you  will  no  longer 
please  my  eyes.  This  heart  is  already  burned  by  a 
deep  passion;  and  the  mention  of  the  interests  of  men 
stirs  it  with  hitherto  unknown  agitation.  I  must,  how- 
ever, enter  this  labyrinth;  I  may,  perchance,  lose  my- 
self there,  but  for  Marie — 

At  this  moment,  aroused  by  the  words  of  his  mother, 
and  fearing  to  exhibit  a  childish  regret  at  leaving  his 
beautiful  country  and  his  family,  he  said: 

"I  am  thinking,  Madame,  of  the  road  which  I  shall 
take  to  Perpignan,  and  also  of  that  which  shall  bring 
me  back  to  you." 

"Do  not  forget  to  take  that  of  Poitiers,  and  to  go  to 
Loudun  to  see  your  old  tutor,  our  good  Abbe  Quillet ; 
he  will  give  you  useful  advice  about  the  court.  He  is 
on  very  good  terms  with  the  Due  de  Bouillon;  and 
besides,  though  he  may  not  be  very  necessary  to  you, 
it  is  a  mark  of  deference  which  you  owe  him." 

"Is  it,  then,  to  the  siege  of  Perpignan  that  you  are 
going,  my  boy?"  asked  the  old  Marechal,  who  began 
to  think  that  he  had  been  silent  a  long  time.  "Ah! 
[14] 


CINQ-MARS 

it  is  well  for  you.  Plague  upon  it!  a  siege!  'tis  an 
excellent  opening.  I  would  have  given  much  had  I 
been  able  to  assist  the  late  King  at  a  siege,  upon  my 
arrival  in  his  court;  it  would  have  been  better  to  be 
disembowelled  then  than  at  a  tourney,  as  I  was.  But 
we  were  at  peace ;  and  I  was  compelled  to  go  and  shoot 
the  Turks  with  the  Rosworm  of  the  Hungarians,  in 
order  that  I  might  not  afflict  my  family  by  my  idle- 
ness. For  the  rest,  may  his  Majesty  receive  you  as 
kindly  as  his  father  received  me!  It  is  true  that  the 
King  is  good  and  brave ;  but  they  have  unfortunately 
taught  him  that  cold  Spanish  etiquette  which  arrests 
all  the  impulses  of  the  heart.  He  restrains  himself 
and  others  by  an  immovable  presence  and  an  icy  look ; 
as  for  me,  I  confess  that  I  am  always  waiting  for  the 
moment  of  thaw,  but  in  vain.  We  were  accustomed 
to  other  manners  from  the  witty  and  simple-hearted 
Henri;  and  we  were  at  least  free  to  tell  him  that  we 
loved  him." 

Cinq-Mars,  with  eyes  fixed  upon  those  of  Bassom- 
pierre,  as  if  to  force  himself  to  attend  to  his  discourse, 
asked  him  what  was  the  manner  of  the  late  king  in 
conversation. 

"Lively  and  frank,"  said  he.  "Some  time  after  my 
arrival  in  France,  I  played  with  him  and  with  the 
Duchesse  de  Beaufort  at  Fontainebleau ;  for  he  wished, 
he  said,  to  win  my  gold-pieces,  my  fine  Portugal  money. 
He  asked  me  the  reason  why  I  came  into  this  country. 
'Truly,  Sire,'  said  I,  frankly,  'I  came  with  no  intention 
of  enlisting  myself  in  your  service,  but  only  to  pass 
some  time  at  your  court,  and  afterward  at  that  of 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

Spain;  out  you  have  charmed  me  so  much  that,  in- 
stead of  going  farther,  if  you  desire  my  service,  I  will 
devote  myself  to  you  till  death.'  Then  he  embraced 
me,  and  assured  me  that  I  could  not  find  a  better 
master,  or  one  who  would  love  me  more.  Alas!  I 
have  found  it  so.  And  for  my  part,  I  sacrificed  every- 
thing to  him,  even  my  love;  and  I  would  have  done 
more,  had  it  been  possible  to  do  more  than  renounce 
Mademoiselle  de  Montmorency." 

The  good  Marechal  had  tears  in  his  eyes;  but  the 
young  Marquis  d'Efnat  and  the  Italians,  looking  at 
one  another,  could  not  help  smiling  to  think  that  at 
present  the  Princesse  de  Conde  was  far  from  young 
and  pretty.  Cinq-Mars  noticed  this  interchange  of 
glances,  and  smiled  also,  but  bitterly. 

"Is  it  true  then,"  he  thought,  "that  the  affections 
meet  the  same  fate  as  the  fashions,  and  that  the  lapse 
of  a  few  years  can  throw  the  same  ridicule  upon  a 
costume  and  upon  love?  Happy  is  he  who  does  not 
outlive  his  youth  and  his  illusions,  and  who  carries 
his  treasures  with  him  to  the  grave!" 

Bu  tagain,  with  effort  breaking  the  melancholy  course 
of  his  thoughts,  and  wishing  that  the  good  Marechal 
should  read  nothing  unpleasant  upon  the  countenances 
of  his  hosts,  he  said: 

"People  spoke,  then,  with  much  freedom  to  King 
Henri?  Possibly,  however,  he  found  it  necessary  to 
assume  that  tone  at  the  beginning  of  his  reign;  but 
when  he  was  master  did  he  change  it?" 

"Never!  no,  never,  to  his  last  day,  did  our  great 
King  cease  to  be  the  same.  He  did  not  blush  to  be  a 
[16] 


CINQ-MARS 

man,  and  he  spoke  to  men  with  force  and  sensibility. 
Ah!  I  fancy  I  see  him  now,  embracing  the  Due  de 
Guise  in  his  carriage,  on  the  very  day  of  his  death; 
he  had  just  made  one  of  his  lively  pleasantries  to  me, 
and  the  Duke  said  to  him,  'You  are,  in  my  opinion, 
one  of  the  most  agreeable  men  in  the  world,  and  destiny 
ordained  us  for  each  other.  For,  had  you  been  but 
an  ordinary  man,  I  should  have  taken  you  into  my 
service  at  whatever  price;  but  since  heaven  ordained 
that  you  should  be  born  a  great  King,  it  is  inevitable 
that  I  belong  to  you.'  Oh,  great  man!"  cried  Bassom- 
pierre,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  perhaps  a  little  ex- 
cited by  the  frequent  bumpers  he  had  drunk,  "you 
said  well,  'When  you  have  lost  me  you  will  learn  my 
value.' " 

During  this  interlude,  the  guests  at  the  table  had 
assumed  various  attitudes,  according  to  their  position 
in  public  affairs.  One  of  the  Italians  pretended  to 
chat  and  laugh  in  a  subdued  manner  with  the  young 
daughter  of  the  Marechale;  the  other  talked  to  the 
deaf  old  Abbe,  who,  with  one  hand  behind  his  ear  that 
he  might  hear,  was  the  only  one  who  appeared  atten- 
tive. Cinq-Mars  had  sunk  back  into  his  melancholy 
abstraction,  after  throwing  a  glance  at  the  Marechal, 
as  one  looks  aside  after  throwing  a  tennis-ball  until  its 
return;  his  elder  brother  did  the  honors  of  the  table 
with  the  same  calm.  Puy-Laurens  observed  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house  with  attention ;  he  was  devoted  to  the 
Due  d' Orleans,  and  feared  the  Cardinal.  As  for  the 
Marechale,  she  had  an  anxious  and  afflicted  air.  Care- 
less words  had  often  recalled  the  death  of  her  husband 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

or  the  departure  of  her  son;  and,  oftener  still,  she  had 
feared  lest  Bassompierre  should  compromise  himself. 
She  had  touched  him  many  times,  glancing  at  the  same 
time  toward  M.  de  Launay,  of  whom  she  knew  little, 
and  whom  she  had  reason  to  believe  devoted  to  the 
prime  minister;  but  to  a  man  of  his  character,  such 
warnings  were  useless.  He  appeared  not  to  notice 
them;  but,  on  the  contrary,  crushing  that  gentleman 
with  his  bold  glance  and  the  sound  of  his  voice,  he 
affected  to  turn  himself  toward  him,  and  to  direct  all 
his  conversation  to  him.  M.  de  Launay  assumed  an 
air  of  indifference  and  of  assenting  politeness,  which  he 
preserved  until  the  moment  when  the  folding-doors 
opened,  and  " Mademoiselle  la  Duchesse  de  Mantua" 
was  announced. 

The  conversation  which  we  have  transcribed  so 
lengthily  passed,  in  reality,  with  rapidity;  and  the  re- 
past was  only  half  over  when  the  arrival  of  Marie  de 
Gonzaga  caused  the  company  to  rise.  She  was  small, 
but  very  well  made,  and  although  her  eyes  and  hair 
were  black,  her  complexion  was  as  dazzling  as  the 
beauty  of  her  skin.  The  Marechale  arose  to  acknowl- 
edge her  rank,  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  in 
recognition  of  her  goodness  and  her  charming  age. 

"We  have  waited  a  long  time  for  you  to-day,  dear 
Marie,"  she  said,  placing  the  Duchess  beside  her; 
"fortunately,  you  remain  with  me  to  replace  one  of 
my  children,  who  is  about  to  depart." 

The  young  Duchess  blushed,  lowered  her  head  and 
her  eyes,  in  order  that  no  one  might  see  their  redness, 
and  said,  timidly: 

[18] 


CINQ-MARS 

"Madame,  that  may  well  be,  since  you  have  taken 
toward  me  the  place  of  a  mother;"  and  a  glance  thrown 
at  Cinq-Mars,  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  made  him 
turn  pale. 

This  arrival  changed  the  conversation;  it  ceased  to 
be  general,  and  each  guest  conversed  in  a  low  voice 
with  his  neighbor.  The  Marechal  alone  continued  to 
utter  a  few  sentences  concerning  the  magnificence  of 
the  old  court,  his  wars  in  Turkey,  the  tournaments,  and 
the  avarice  of  the  new  court;  but,  to  his  great  regret, 
no  one  made  any  reply,  and  the  company  were  about 
to  leave  the  table,  when,  as  the  clock  struck  two,  five 
horses  appeared  in  the  courtyard.  Four  were  mounted 
by  servants,  cloaked  and  armed ;  the  other  horse,  black 
and  spirited,  was  held  by  old  Grandchamp — it  was  his 
master's  steed. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Bassompierre ;  "see,  our  battle- 
horses  are  saddled  and  bridled.  Come,  young  man, 
we  must  say,  with  our  old  Marot: 

"'Adieu  la  cour,  adieu  les  dames! 
Adieu  les  filles  et  les  femmes! 
Adieu  vous  dy  pour  quelque  temps; 
Adieu  vos  plaisans  passe-temps! 
Adieu  le  bal,  adieu  la  dance; 
Adieu  mesure,  adieu  cadance, 
Tabourins,  Hautbois,  Violons, 
Puisqu'a  la  guerre  nous  allons!'"* 

These  old  verses  and  the  air  of  the  Marechal  made 
all  the  guests  laugh,  except  three  persons. 

"Heavens!"  he  continued,  "it  seems  to  me  as  if, 

*  In  this  quotation  the  Old  French  form  has  been  preserved. 
[19] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

like  him,  I  were  only  seventeen  years  old;  he  will  re- 
turn to  us  covered  with  embroidery.  Madame,  we 
must  keep  his  chair  vacant  for  him." 

The  Marechale  suddenly  grew  pale,  and  left  the 
table  in  tears;  every  one  rose  with  her;  she  took  only 
two  steps,  and  sank  into  another  chair.  Her  sons  and 
her  daughter  and  the  young  Duchess  gathered  anx- 
iously around  her,  and  heard  her  say,  amid  the  sighs 
and  tears  which  she  strove  to  restrain: 

"Pardon,  my  friends!  it  is  foolish  of  me — childish; 
but  I  am  weak  at  present,  and  am  not  mistress  of  my- 
self. We  were  thirteen  at  table;  and  you,  my  dear 
Duchess,  were  the  cause  of  it.  But  it  is  very  wrong  of 
me  to  show  so  much  weakness  before  him.  Farewell, 
my  child ;  give  me  your  forehead  to  kiss,  and  may  God 
conduct  you!  Be  worthy  of  your  name  and  of  your 
father." 

Then,  as  Homer  says,  "smiling  under  tears,"  she 
raised  herself,  pushed  her  son  from  her,  and  said: 

"Come,  let  me  see  you  on  horseback,  fair  sir!" 

The  silent  traveller  kissed  the  hands  of  his  mother, 
and  made  a  low  bow  to  her;  he  bowed  also  to  the 
Duchess,  without  raising  his  eyes.  Then,  embracing 
his  elder  brother,  pressing  the  hand  of  the  Marechal, 
and  kissing  the  forehead  of  his  young  sister  almost 
simultaneously,  he  went  forth,  and  was  on  horseback 
in  an  instant.  Every  one  went  to  the  windows  which 
overlooked  the  court,  except  Madame  d'Effiat,  who 
was  still  seated  and  suffering. 

"He  sets  off  at  full  gallop.  That  is  a  good  sign," 
said  the  Marechal,  laughing. 

[20] 


CINQ-MARS 

"Oh,  heavens!"  cried  the  young  Princess,  retiring 
from  the  bay-window. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  the  mother. 

"Nothing,  nothing!"  said  M.  de  Launay.  "Your 
son's  horse  stumbled  under  the  gateway;  but  he  soon 
pulled  him  up.  See,  he  salutes  us  from  the  road." 

"Another  ominous  presage!"  said  the  Marquise, 
upon  retiring  to  her  apartments. 

Every  one  imitated  her  by  being  silent  or  speaking 
low. 

The  day  w^as  sad,  and  in  the  evening  the  supper  was 
silent  at  the  chateau  of  Chaumont. 

At  ten  o'clock  that  evening,  the  old  Marechal,  con- 
ducted by  his  valet,  retired  to  the  northern  tower  near 
the  gateway,  and  opposite  the  river.  The  heat  was 
extreme;  he  opened  the  window,  and,  enveloping  him- 
self in  his  great  silk  robe,  placed  a  heavy  candlestick 
upon  the  table  and  desired  to  be  left  alone.  His  win- 
dow looked  out  upon  the  plain,  which  the  moon,  in  her 
first  quarter,  indistinctly  lighted;  the  sky  was  charged 
with  thick  clouds,  and  all  things  disposed  the  mind  to 
melancholy.  Although  Bassompierre  had  nothing  of 
the  dreamer  in  his  character,  the  tone  which  the  con- 
versation had  taken  at  dinner  returned  to  his  memory, 
and  he  reconsidered  his  life,  the  sad  changes  which 
the  new  reign  had  wrought  in  it,  a  reign  which  seemed 
to  have  breathed  upon  him  a  wind  of  misfortune — the 
death  of  a  cherished  sister;  the  irregularities  of  the  heir 
of  his  name;  the  loss  of  his  lands  and  of  his  favor;  the 
recent  fate  of  his  friend,  the  Marechal  d'Efnat,  whose 
chambers  he  now  occupied.  All  these  thoughts  drew 

[21] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

from  him  an  involuntary  sigh,  and  he  went  to  the  win- 
dow to  breathe. 

At  that  moment  he  fancied  he  heard  the  tramp  of  a 
troop  of  horse  at  the  side  of  the  wood;  but  the  wind 
rising  made  him  think  that  he  had  been  mistaken,  and, 
as  the  noise  suddenly  ceased,  he  forgot  it.  He  still 
watched  for  some  time  all  the  lights  of  the  chateau, 
which  were  successively  extinguished,  after  winding 
among  the  windows  of  the  staircases  and  rambling 
about  the  courtyards  and  the  stables.  Then,  leaning 
back  in  his  great  tapestried  armchair,  his  elbow  resting 
on  the  table,  he  abandoned  himself  to  his  reflections. 
After  a  while,  drawing  from  his  breast  a  medallion 
which  hung  concealed,  suspended  by  a  black  ribbon, 
he  said: 

"Come,  my  good  old  master,  talk  with  me  as  you 
have  so  often  talked;  come,  great  King,  forget  your 
court  for  the  smile  of  a  true  friend;  come,  great  man, 
consult  me  concerning  ambitious  Austria;  come,  in- 
constant chevalier,  speak  to  me  of  the  lightness  of  thy 
love,  and  of  the  fidelity  of  thine  inconstancy;  come,  he- 
roic soldier,  complain  to  me  again  that  I  obscure  you 
in  combat.  Ah,  had  I  only  done  it  in  Paris!  Had  I 
only  received  thy  wound?  With  thy  blood  the  world 
has  lost  the  benefits  of  thine  interrupted  reign 

The  tears  of  the  Marechal  obscured  the  glass  that 
covered  the  large  medallion,  and  he  was  effacing  them 
with  respectful  kisses,  when,  his  door  being  roughly 
opened,  he  quickly  drew  his  sword. 

"Who  goes  there?"  he  cried,  in  his  surprise,  which 
was  much  increased  when  he  saw  M.  de  Launay,  who, 

[22] 


CINQMARS 

hat  in  hand,  advanced  toward  him,  and  said  to  him, 
with  embarrassment : 

"Monsieur,  it  is  with  a  heart  pierced  with  grief  that 
I  am  forced  to  tell  you  that  the  King  has  commanded 
me  to  arrest  you.  A  carriage  awaits  you  at  the  gate, 
attended  by  thirty  of  the  Cardinal-Duke's  musket- 
eers." 

Bassompierre  had  not  risen:  and  he  still  held  the  me- 
dallion in  his  right  hand,  and  the  sword  in  the  other. 
He  tendered  it  disdainfully  to  this  man,  saying: 

"  Monsieur,  I  know  that  I  have  lived  too  long,  and  it 
is  that  of  which  I  was  thinking;  in  the  name  of  the 
great  Henri,  I  restore  this  sword  peacefully  to  his  son. 
Follow  me." 

He  accompanied  these  words  with  a  look  so  firm  that 
De  Launay  was  depressed,  and  followed  him  with 
drooping  head,  as  if  he  had  himself  been  arrested  by  the 
noble  old  man,  who,  seizing  a  flambeau,  issued  from 
the  court  and  found  all  the  doors  opened  by  horse- 
guards,  who  had  terrified  the  people  of  the  chateau  in 
the  name  of  the  King,  and  commanded  silence.  The 
carriage  was  ready,  and  departed  rapidly,  followed  by 
many  horses.  The  Marechal,  seated  beside  M.  de 
Launay,  was  about  to  fall  asleep,  rocked  by  the  move- 
ment of  the  vehicle,  when  a  voice  cried  to  the  driver, 
"Stop!"  and,  as  he  continued,  a  pistol-shot  followed. 
The  horses  stopped. 

"I  declare,  Monsieur,  that  this  is  done  without  my 
participation,"  said  Bassompierre.  Then,  putting  his 
head  out  at  the  door,  he  saw  that  they  were  in  a  little 
wood,  and  that  the  road  was  too  narrow  to  allow  the 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

horses  to  pass  to  either  the  right  or  the  left  of  the  car- 
riage—  a  great  advantage  for  the  aggressors,  since  the 
musketeers  could  not  advance.  He  tried  to  see  what 
was  going  on  when  a  cavalier,  having  in  his  hand  a  long 
sword,  with  which  he  parried  the  strokes  of  the  guard, 
approached  the  door,  crying: 

"Come,  come,  Monsieur  le  Marechal!" 

"What!  is  that  you,  you  madcap,  Henri,  who  are 
playing  these  pranks?  Gentlemen,  let  him  alone;  he 
is  a  mere  boy." 

And,  as  De  Launay  called  to  the  musketeers  to  cease, 
Bassompierre  recognized  the  cavalier. 

"And  how  the  devil  came  you  here?"  cried  Bassom- 
pierre. "I  thought  you  were  at  Tours,  or  even  farther, 
if  you  had  done  your  duty;  but  here  you  are  returned 
to  make  a  fool  of  yourself." 

"Truly,  it  was  not  for  you  I  returned,  but  for  a  secret 
affair,"  said  Cinq-Mars,  in  a  lower  tone;  "but,  as  I 
take  it,  they  are  about  to  introduce  you  to  the  Bastille, 
and  I  am  sure  you  will  not  betray  me,  for  that  delight- 
ful edifice  is  the  very  Temple  of  Discretion.  Yet  had 
you  thought  fit,"  he  continued,  aloud,  "I  should  have 
released  you  from  these  gentlemen  in  the  wood  here, 
which  is  so  dense  that  their  horses  would  not  have  been 
able  to  stir.  A  peasant  informed  me  of  the  insult  passed 
upon  us,  more  than  upon  you,  by  this  violation  of  my 
father's  house." 

"It  is  the  King's  order,  my  boy,  and  we  must  respect 
his  will;   reserve  your  ardor  for  his  service,  though  I 
thank  you  with  all  my  heart.    Now  farewell,  and  let  me 
proceed  on  my  agreeable  journey." 
[24] 


CINQ-MARS 

De  Launay  interposed,  "I  may  inform  you,  Monsieur 
de  Cinq-Mars,  that  I  have  been  desired  by  the  King 
himself  to  assure  Monsieur  le  Marechal,  that  he  is 
deeply  afflicted  at  the  step  he  has  found  it  necessary  to 
take,  and  that  it  is  solely  from  an  apprehension  that 
Monsieur  le  Marechal  may  be  led  into  evil  that  his 
Majesty  requests  him  to  remain  for  a  few  days  in  the 
Bastille."* 

Bassompierre  turned  his  head  toward  Cinq-Mars 
with  a  hearty  laugh.  "You  see,  my  friend,  how  we 
young  men  are  placed  under  guardianship;  so  take 
care  of  yourself." 

"I  will  go,  then,"  said  Henri;  "this  is  the  last  time 
I  shall  play  the  knight-errant  for  any  one  against  his 
will;"  and,  reentering  the  wood  as  the  carriage  dashed 
off  at  full  speed,  he  proceeded  by  narrow  paths  toward 
the  castle,  followed  at  a  short  distance  by  Grandchamp 
and  his  small  escort. 

On  arriving  at  the  foot  of  the  western  tower,  he  reined 
in  his  horse.  He  did  not  alight,  but,  approaching  so 
near  the  wall  that  he  could  rest  his  foot  upon  an  abut- 
ment, he  stood  up,  and  raised  the  blind  of  a  window  on 
the  ground-floor,  made  in  the  form  of  a  portcullis,  such 
as  is  still  seen  on  some  ancient  buildings. 

It  was  now  past  midnight,  and  the  moon  was  hidden 
behind  the  clouds.  No  one  but  a  member  of  the  family 
could  have  found  his  way  through  darkness  so  pro- 
found. The  towers  and  the  roof  formed  one  dark 
mass,  which  stood  out  in  indistinct  relief  against  the 
sky,  hardly  less  dark;  no  light  shone  throughout  the 

*He  remained  there  twelve  years. 
[25] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

chateau,  wherein  all  inmates  seemed  buried  in  slum- 
ber. Cinq-Mars,  enveloped  in  a  large  cloak,  his  fac6 
hidden  under  the  broad  brim  of  his  hat,  awaited  in 
suspense  a  reply  to  his  signal. 

It  came;  a  soft  voice  was  heard  from  within: 

"Is  that  you,  Monsieur  Cinq-Mars?" 

"Alas,  who  else  should  it  be?  Who  else  would  re- 
turn like  a  criminal  to  his  paternal  house,  without  en- 
tering it,  without  bidding  one  more  adieu  to  his  moth- 
er ?  Who  else  would  return  to  complain  of  the  present, 
without  a  hope  for  the  future,  but  I?" 

The  gentle  voice  replied,  but  its  tones  were  agitated, 
and  evidently  accompanied  with  tears:  "Alas!  Henri, 
of  what  do  you  complain?  Have  I  not  already  done 
more,  far  more  than  I  ought  ?  It  is  not  my  fault,  but  my 
misfortune,  that  my  father  was  a  sovereign  prince. 
Can  one  choose  one's  birthplace  or  one's  rank,  and  say 
for  example,  'I  will  be  a  shepherdess?'  How  unhappy 
is  the  lot  of  princesses!  From  the  cradle,  the  sentiments 
of  the  heart  are  prohibited  to  them;  and  when  they 
have  advanced  beyond  childhood,  they  are  ceded  like  a 
town,  and  must  not  even  weep.  Since  I  have  known 
you,  what  have  I  not  done  to  bring  my  future  life  within 
the  reach  of  happiness,  in  removing  it  far  from  a 
throne?  For  two  years  I  have  struggled  in  vain,  at 
once  against  my  evil  fortune,  that  separates  me  from 
you,  and  against  you,  who  estrange  me  from  the  duty 
I  owe  to  my  family.  I  have  sought  to  spread  a  belief 
that  I  was  dead ;  I  have  almost  longed  for  revolutions. 
I  should  have  blessed  a  change  which  deprived  me  of 
my  rank,  as  I  thanked  Heaven  when  my  father  was  de- 
[26] 


CINQ-MARS 

throned;  but  the  court  wonders  at  my  absence;  the 
Queen  requires  me  to  attend  her.  Our  dreams  are  at 
an  end,  Henri;  we  have  already  slumbered  too  long. 
Let  us  awake,  be  courageous,  and  think  no  more  of 
those  dear  two  years — forget  all  in  the  one  recollection 
of  our  great  resolve.  Have  but  one  thought;  be  am- 
bitious for — be  ambitious — for  my  sake." 

"Must  we,  then,  indeed,  forget  all,  Marie?"  mur- 
mured Cinq-Mars. 

She  hesitated. 

"Yes,  forget  all — that  I  myself  have  forgotten." 
Then,  after  a  moment's  pause,  she  continued  with  ear- 
nestness: "Yes,  forget  our  happy  days  together,  our 
long  evenings,  even  our  walks  by  the  lake  and  through 
the  wood;  but  keep  the  future  ever  in  mind.  Go, 
Henri;  your  father  was  Marechal.  Be  you  more;  be 
you  Constable,  Prince.  Go ;  you  are  young,  noble,  rich, 
brave,  beloved " 

"Beloved  forever?"  said  Henri. 

"Forever;  for  life  and  for  eternity." 

Cinq-Mars,  tremulously  extending  his  hand  to  the 
window,  exclaimed: 

"I  swear,  Marie,  by  the  Virgin,  whose  name  you 
bear,  that  you  shall  be  mine,  or  my  head  shall  fall  on 
the  scaffold!" 

"Oh,  Heaven!  what  is  it  you  say?"  she  cried,  seiz- 
ing his  hand  in  her  own.  "Swear  to  me  that  you  will 
share  in  no  guilty  deeds;  that  you  will  never  forget  that 
the  King  of  France  is  your  master.  Love  him  above 
all,  next  to  her  who  will  sacrifice  all  for  you,  who  will 
await  you  amid  suffering  and  sorrow.  Take  this  little 
[27] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

gold  cross  and  wear  it  upon  your  heart;  it  has  often 
been  wet  with  my  tears,  and  those  tears  will  flow  still 
more  bitterly  if  ever  you  are  faithless  to  the  King.  Give 
me  the  ring  I  see  on  your  finger.  Oh,  heavens,  my 
hand  and  yours  are  red  with  blood!" 

"Oh,  only  a  scratch.  Did  you  hear  nothing,  an 
hour  ago?" 

"No;  but  listen.    Do  you  hear  anything  now ?" 

"No,  Marie,  nothing  but  some  bird  of  night  on  the 
tower." 

"I  heard  whispering  near  us,  I  am  sure.  But 
whence  comes  this  blood?  Tell  me,  and  then  de- 
part." 

"Yes,  I  will  go,  while  the  clouds  are  still  dark  above 
us.  Farewell,  sweet  soul;  in  my  hour  of  danger  I  will 
invoke  thee  as  a  guardian  angel.  Love  has  infused  the 
burning  poison  of  ambition  into  my  soul,  and  for  the 
first  time  I  feel  that  ambition  may  be  ennobled  by  its 
aim.  Farewell!  I  go  to  accomplish  my  destiny." 

"And  forget  not  mine." 

"Can  they  ever  be  separated?" 

"Never!"  exclaimed  Marie,  "but  by  death." 

"I  fear  absence  still  more,"  said  Cinq-Mars. 

"Farewell!  I  tremble;  farewell!"  repeated  the  be- 
loved voice,  and  the  window  was  slowly  drawn  down, 
the  clasped  hands  not  parting  till  the  last  moment. 

The  black  horse  had  all  the  while  been  pawing  the 
earth,  tossing  his  head  with  impatience,  and  whinny- 
ing. Cinq-Mars,  as  agitated  and  restless  as  his  steed, 
gave  it  the  rein ;  and  the  whole  party  was  soon  near  the 
city  of  Tours,  which  the  bells  of  St.  Gatien  had  an- 
[28] 


CINQ-MARS 

nounced  from  afar.  To  the  disappointment  of  old 
Grandchamp,  Cinq-Mars  would  not  enter  the  town, 
but  proceeded  on  his  way,  and  five  days  later  he  en- 
tered, with  his  escort,  the  old  city  of  Loudun  in  Poitou, 
after  an  unev  tful  journey. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   STREET 

Je  m'avancais  d'un  pas  penible  et  mal  assurd  vers  le  but  de  ce 
convoi  tragique. — NODIER,  Smarra. 

[E  reign  of  which  we  are  about  to 
paint  a  few  years — a  reign  of  feeble- 
ness, which  was  like  an  eclipse  of  the 
crown  between  the  splendors  of  Henri 
IV  and  those  of  Louis  le  Grand — af- 
flicts the  eyes  which  contemplate  it 
with  dark  stains  of  blood,  and  these 
were  not  all  the  work  of  one  man,  but 
were  caused  by  great  and  grave  bodies.  It  is  melan- 
choly to  observe  that  in  this  age,  still  full  of  disorder,  the 
clergy,  like  a  nation,  had  its  populace,  as  it  had  its  no- 
bility, its  ignorant  and  its  criminal  prelates,  as  well  as 
those  who  were  learned  and  virtuous.  Since  that  time, 
its  remnant  of  barbarism  has  been  refined  away  by  the 
long  reign  of  Louis  XIV,  and  its  corruptions  have  been 
washed  out  in  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  whom  it  offered 
up  to  the  revolution  of  1793. 

We  felt  it  necessary  to  pause  for  a  moment  to  express 
this  reflection  before  entering  upon  the  recital  of  the 
facts  presented  by  the  history  of  this  period,  and  to  in- 
timate that,  notwithstanding  this  consolatory  reflection, 
we  have  found  it  incumbent  upon  us  to  pass  over  many 
[30] 


CINQ-MARS 

details  too  odious  to  occupy  a  place  in  our  pages,  sigh- 
ing in  spirit  at  those  guilty  acts  which  it  was  necessary 
to  record,  as  in  relating  the  life  of  a  virtuous  old  man, 
we  should  lament  over  the  impetuosities  of  his  passion- 
ate youth,  or  over  the  corrupt  tendencies  of  his  riper 
age. 

When  the  cavalcade  entered  the  narrow  streets  of 
Loudun,  they  heard  strange  noises  all  around  them. 
The  streets  were  filled  with  agitated  masses;  the  bells 
of  the  church  and  of  the  convent  were  ringing  furi- 
ously, as  if  the  town  was  in  flames ;  and  the  whole  pop- 
ulation, without  paying  any  attention  to  the  travellers, 
was  pressing  tumultuously  toward  a  large  edifice  that 
adjoined  the  church.  Here  and  there  dense  crowds 
were  collected,  listening  in  silence  to  some  voice  that 
seemed  raised  in  exhortation,  or  engaged  in  emphatic 
reading;  then,  furious  cries,  mingled  with  pious  ex- 
clamations, arose  from  the  crowd,  which,  dispersing, 
showed  the  travellers  that  the  orator  was  some  Capuchin 
or  Franciscan  friar,  who,  holding  a  wooden  crucifix  in 
one  hand,  pointed  with  the  other  to  the  large  building 
which  was  attracting  such  universal  interest. 

"Jesu  Maria!"  exclaimed  an  old  woman,  "who 
would  ever  have  thought  that  the  Evil  Spirit  would 
choose  our  old  town  for  his  abode?" 

"Ay,  or  that  the  pious  Ursulines  should  be  pos- 
sessed?" said  another. 

"They  say  that  the  demon  who  torments  the  Superior 
is  called  Legion,"  cried  a  third. 

"One  demon,  say  you?"  interrupted  a  nun;  "there 
were  seven  in  her  poor  body,  whereunto,  doubtless,  she 
[31] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

had  attached  too  much  importance,  by  reason  of  its 
great  beauty,  though  now  'tis  but  the  receptacle  of  evil 
spirits.  The  prior  of  the  Carmelites  yesterday  expelled 
the  demon  Eazas  through  her  mouth ;  and  the  reverend 
Father  Lactantius  has  driven  out  in  like  manner  the 
demon  Beherit.  But  the  other  five  will  not  depart,  and 
when  the  holy  exorcists  (whom  Heaven  support !)  sum- 
moned them  in  Latin  to  withdraw,  they  replied  inso- 
lently that  they  would  not  go  till  they  had  proved  their 
power,  to  the  conviction  even  of  the  Huguenots  and 
heretics,  who,  misbelieving  wretches!  seem  to  doubt 
it.  The  demon  Elimi,  the  worst  of  them  all,  as  you 
know,  has  threatened  to  take  off  Monsieur  de  Lau- 
bardemont's  skull-cap  to-day,  and  to  dangle  it  in  the 
air  at  Miserere" 

"Holy  Virgin!"  rejoined  the  first  speaker,  "I'm  all 
of  a  tremble !  And  to  think  that  many  times  I  have  got 
this  magician  Urbain  to  say  masses  for  me!" 

"For  myself,"  exclaimed  a  girl,  crossing  herself;  "I 
too  confessed  to  him  ten  months  ago!  No  doubt  I 
should  have  been  possessed  myself,  but  for  the  relic  of 
Saint- Genevieve  I  luckily  had  about  me,  and 

"Luckily,  indeed,  Martine,"  interposed  a  fat  gossip; 
"for — no  offence! — you,  as  I  remember,  were  long 
enough  with  the  handsome  sorcerer." 

"Pshaw!"  said  a  young  soldier,  who  had  joined  the 
group,  smoking  his  pipe,  "don't  you  know  that  pretty 
Martine  was  dispossessed  a  month  ago." 

The  girl  blushed,  and  drew  the  hood  of  her  black 
cloak  over  her  face.  The  elder  gossips  cast  a  glance  of 
indignation  at  the  reckless  trooper,  and  finding  them- 
[32] 


CINQ-MARS 

selves  now  close  to  the  door  of  the  building,  and  thus 
sure  of  making  their  way  in  among  the  first  when  it 
should  be  thrown  open,  sat  down  upon  the  stone  bench 
at  the  side,  and,  talking  of  the  latest  wonders,  raised  the 
expectations  of  all  as  to  the  delight  they  were  about  to 
have  in  being  spectators  of  something  marvellous — an 
apparition,  perhaps,  but  at  the  very  least,  an  adminis- 
tration of  the  torture. 

"Is  it  true,  aunt,"  asked  Martine  of  the  eldest  gos- 
sip, "that  you  have  heard  the  demons  speak?" 

"Yes,  child,  true  as  I  see  you;  many  and  many  can 
say  the  same;  and  it  was  to  convince  you  of  it  I  brought 
you  with  me  here,  that  you  may  see  the  power  of  the 
Evil  One." 

"What  kind  of  voice  has  he?"  continued  the  girl, 
glad  to  encourage  a  conversation  which  diverted  from 
herself  the  invidious  attention  procured  her  by  the  sol- 
dier's raillery. 

"  Oh,  he  speaks  with  a  voice  like  that  of  the  Superior 
herself,  to  whom  Our  Lady  be  gracious!  Poor  young 
woman!  I  was  with  her  yesterday  a  long  time;  it  was 
sad  to  see  her  tearing  her  breast,  turning  her  arms  and 
her  legs  first  one  way  and  then  another,  and  then,  all  of 
a  sudden,  twisting  them  together  behind  her  back. 
When  the  holy  Father  Lactantius  pronounced  the  name 
of  Urbain  Grandier,  foam  came  out  of  her  mouth,  and 
she  talked  Latin  for  all  the  world  as  if  she  were  reading 
the  Bible.  Of  course,  I  did  not  understand  what  she 
said,  and  all  I  can  remember  of  it  now  is,  '  Urbanus 
Magicus  rosas  diabolica?  which  they  tell  me  means  that 
the  magician  Urbain  had  bewitched  her  with  some 
3  [33] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

roses  the  Devil  had  given  him;  and  so  it  must  have 
been,  for  while  Father  Lactantius  spoke,  out  of  her  ears 
and  neck  came  a  quantity  of  flame-colored  roses,  all 
smelling  of  sulphur  so  strongly  that  the  Judge-Advocate 
called  out  for  every  one  present  to  stop  their  noses  and 
eyes,  for  that  the  demons  were  about  to  come  out." 

"Ah,  look  there  now!"  exclaimed  with  shrill  voices 
and  a  triumphant  air  the  whole  bevy  of  assembled 
women,  turning  toward  the  crowd,  and  more  particu- 
larly toward  a  group  of  men  attired  in  black,  among 
whom  was  standing  the  young  soldier  who  had  cut  his 
joke  just  before  so  unceremoniously. 

"Listen  to  the  noisy  old  idiots!"  exclaimed  the  sol- 
dier. "They  think  they're  at  the  witches'  Sabbath,  but 
I  don't  see  their  broomsticks." 

"Young  man,  young  man!"  said  a  citizen,  with  a  sad 
air,  "jest  not  upon  such  subjects  in  the  open  air,  or,  in 
such  a  time  as  this,  the  wind  may  become  gushing 
flames  and  destroy  you." 

"Pooh!  I  laugh  at  your  exorcists!"  returned  the  sol- 
dier; "my  name  is  Grand-Ferre,  and  I've  got  here  a 
better  exerciser  than  any  of  you  can  show." 

And  significantly  grasping  the  handle  of  his  rapier  in 
one  hand,  with  the  other  he  twisted  up  his  blond  mous- 
tache, as  he  looked  fiercely  around;  but  meeting  no 
glance  which  returned  the  defiance  of  his  own,  he 
slowly  withdrew,  left  foot  foremost,  and  strolled  along 
the  dark,  narrow  streets  with  all  the  reckless  noncha- 
lance of  a  young  soldier  who  has  just  donned  his  uni- 
form, and  a  profound  contempt  for  all  who  wear  not 
a  military  coat. 

[34] 


CINQ-MARS 

In  the  meantime  eight  or  ten  of  the  more  substantial 
and  rational  inhabitants  traversed  in  a  body,  slowly 
and  silently,  the  agitated  throng;  they  seemed  over- 
whelmed with  amazement  and  distress  at  the  agitation 
and  excitement  they  witnessed  everywhere,  and  as  each 
new  instance  of  the  popular  frenzy  appeared,  they  ex- 
changed glances  of  wonder  and  apprehension.  Their 
mute  depression  communicated  itself  to  the  working- 
people,  and  to  the  peasants  who  had  flocked  in  from  the 
adjacent  country,  and  who  all  sought  a  guide  for  their 
opinions  in  the  faces  of  the  principal  townsmen,  also  for 
the  most  part  proprietors  of  the  surrounding  districts. 
They  saw  that  something  calamitous  was  on  foot,  and 
resorted  accordingly  to  the  only  remedy  open  to  the 
ignorant  and  the  beguiled — apathetic  resignation. 

Yet,  in  the  character  of  the  French  peasant  is  a  cer- 
tain scoffing  finesse  of  which  he  makes  effective  use, 
sometimes  with  his  equals,  and  almost  invariably  with 
his  superiors.  He  puts  questions  to  power  as  embar- 
rassing as  are  those  which  infancy  puts  to  mature  age. 
He  affects  excessive  humility,  in  order  to  confuse  him 
whom  he  addresses  with  the  very  height  of  his  isolated 
elevation.  He  exaggerates  the  awkwardness  of  his  man- 
ner and  the  rudeness  of  his  speech,  as  a  means  of  cover- 
ing his  real  thoughts  under  the  appearance  of  mere  un- 
couthness;  yet,  despite  all  his  self-command,  there  is 
something  in  his  air,  certain  fierce  expressions  which 
betray  him  to  the  close  observer,  who  discerns  in  his 
sardonic  smile,  and  in  the  marked  emphasis  with  which 
he  leans  on  his  long  staff,  the  hopes  that  secretly  nourish 
his  soul,  and  the  aid  upon  which  he  ultimately  relies. 
[35] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

One  of  the  oldest  of  the  peasants  whom  we  have  in- 
dicated came  on  vigorously,  followed  by  ten  or  twelve 
young  men,  his  sons  and  nephews,  all  wearing  the 
broad-brimmed  hat  and  the  blue  frock  or  blouse  of  the 
ancient  Gauls,  which  the  peasants  of  France  still  wear 
over  their  other  garments,  as  peculiarly  adapted  to 
their  humid  climate  and  their  laborious  habits. 

When  the  old  man  had  reached  the  group  of  person- 
ages of  whom  we  have  just  spoken,  he  took  off  his  hat 
—an  example  immediately  followed  by  his  whole  fam- 
ily— and  showed  a  face  tanned  with  exposure  to  the 
weather,  a  forehead  bald  and  wrinkled  with  age,  and 
long,  white  hair.  His  shoulders  were  bent  with  years 
and  labor,  but  he  was  still  a  hale  and  sturdy  man.  He 
was  received  with  an  air  of  welcome,  and  even  of  re- 
spect, by  one  of  the  gravest  of  the  grave  group  he  had 
approached,  who,  without  uncovering,  however,  ex- 
tended to  him  his  hand. 

"What!  good  Father  Guillaume  Leroux!"  said  he, 
"and  have  you,  too,  left  our  farm  of  La  Chenai'e  to  visit 
the  town,  when  it's  not  market-day?  Why,  'tis  as  if 
your  oxen  were  to  unharness  themselves  and  go  hunt- 
ing, leaving  their  work  to  see  a  poor  rabbit  run 
down!" 

"Faith,  Monsieur  le  Comte  du  Lude,"  replied  the 
farmer,  "for  that  matter,  sometimes  the  rabbit  runs 
across  our  path  of  itself;  but,  in  truth,  I've  a  notion  that 
some  of  the  people  here  want  to  make  fools  of  us,  and 
so  I've  come  to  see  about  it." 

"Enough  of  that,  my  friend,"  returned  the  Count; 
"here  is  Monsieur  Fournier,  the  Advocate,  who  assur- 
[36] 


CINQ-MARS 

edly  will  not  deceive  you,  for  he  resigned  his  office  of 
Attorney-General  last  night,  that  he  might  henceforth 
devote  his  eloquence  to  the  service  of  his  own  noble 
thoughts.  You  will  hear  him,  perhaps,  to-day,  though 
truly,  I  dread  his  appearing  for  his  own  sake  as  much 
as  I  desire  it  for  that  of  the  accused." 

"I  care  not  for  myself,"  said  Fournier;  "truth  is 
with  me  a  passion,  and  I  would  have  it  taught  in  all 
times  and  all  places." 

He  that  spoke  was  a  young  man,  whose  face,  pallid 
in  the  extreme,  was  full  of  the  noblest  expression.  His 
blond  hair,  his  light-blue  eyes,  his  thinness,  the  deli- 
cacy of  his  frame,  made  him  at  first  sight  seem  younger 
than  he  was;  but  his  thoughtful  and  earnest  counte- 
nance indicated  that  mental  superiority  and  that  preco- 
cious maturity  of  soul  which  are  developed  by  deep 
study  in  youth,  combined  with  natural  energy  of  char- 
acter. He  was  attired  wholly  in  black,  with  a  short 
cloak  in  the  fashion  of  the  day,  and  carried  under  his 
left  arm  a  roll  of  documents,  which,  when  speaking,  he 
would  take  in  the  right  hand  and  grasp  convulsively,  as 
a  warrior  in  his  anger  grasps  the  pommel  of  his  sword. 
At  one  moment  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  about  to  unfurl 
the  scroll,  and  from  it  hurl  lightning  upon  those  whom 
he  pursued  with  looks  of  fiery  indignation — three  Ca- 
puchins and  a  Franciscan,  who  had  just  passed. 

"Pere  Guillaume,"  pursued  M.  du  Lude,  "how  is  it 
you  have  brought  with  you  only  your  sons,  and  they 
armed  with  their  staves?" 

"Faith,  Monsieur,  I  have  no  desire  that  our  girls 
should  learn  to  dance  of  the  nuns;  and,  moreover,  just 
[37] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

now  the  lads  with  their  staves  may  bestir  themselves  to 
better  purpose  than  their  sisters  would." 

"Take  my  advice,  my  old  friend,"  said  the  Count, 
"and  don't  bestir  yourselves  at  all;  rather  stand  quietly 
aside  to  view  the  procession  which  you  see  approaching, 
and  remember  that  you  are  seventy  years  old." 

"Ah!"  murmured  the  old  man,  drawing  up  his 
twelve  sons  in  double  military  rank,  "I  fought  under 
good  King  Henriot,  and  can  play  at  sword  and  pistol 
as  well  as  the  worthy  ligueurs;"  and  shaking  his  head 
he  leaned  against  a  post,  his  knotty  staff  between  his 
crossed  legs,  his  hands  clasped  on  its  thick  butt-end, 
and  his  white,  bearded  chin  resting  on  his  hands.  Then, 
half  closing  his  eyes,  he  appeared  lost  in  recollections 
of  his  youth. 

The  bystanders  observed  with  interest  his  dress, 
slashed  in  the  fashion  of  Henri  IV,  and  his  resemblance 
to  the  Be"arnese  monarch  in  the  latter  years  of  his  life, 
though  the  King's  hair  had  been  prevented  by  the  assas- 
sin's blade  from  acquiring  the  whiteness  which  that  of 
the  old  peasant  had  peacefully  attained.  A  furious 
pealing  of  the  bells,  however,  attracted  the  general 
attention  to  the  end  of  the  great  street,  down  which  was 
seen  filing  a  long  procession,  whose  banners  and  glit- 
tering pikes  rose  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  which 
successively  and  in  silence  opened  a  way  for  the  at  once 
absurd  and  terrible  train. 

First,  two  and  two,  came  a  body  of  archers,  with 

pointed  beards  and  large  plumed  hats,  armed  with 

long  halberds,  who,  ranging  in  a  single  file  on  each  side 

of  the  middle  of  the  street,  formed  an  avenue  along 

[38] 


CINQ-MARS 

which  marched  in  solemn  order  a  procession  of  Gray 
Penitents — men  attired  in  long,  gray  robes,  the  hoods 
of  which  entirely  covered  their  heads;  masks  of  the 
same  stuff  terminated  below  their  chins  in  points,  like 
beards,  each  having  three  holes  for  the  eyes  and  nose. 
Even  at  the  present  day  we  see  these  costumes  at  fu- 
nerals, more  especially  in  the  Pyrenees.  The  Penitents 
of  Loudun  carried  enormous  wax  candles,  and  their 
slow,  uniform  movement,  and  their  eyes,  which  seemed 
to  glitter  under  their  masks,  gave  them  the  appearance 
of  phantoms. 

The  people  expressed  their  various  feelings  in  an 
undertone : 

"There's  many  a  rascal  hidden  under  those  masks," 
said  a  citizen. 

"Ay,  and  with  a  face  uglier  than  the  mask  itself," 
added  a  young  man. 

"They  make  me  afraid,"  tremulously  exclaimed  a 
girl. 

"I'm  only  afraid  for  my  purse,"  said  the  first  speaker. 

"Ah,  heaven!  there  are  our  holy  brethren,  the  Peni- 
tents," cried  an  old  woman,  throwing  back  her  hood, 
the  better  to  look  at  them.  "  See  the  banner  they  bear! 
Ah,  neighbors,  'tis  a  joyful  thing  to  have  it  among  us! 
Beyond  a  doubt  it  will  save  us;  see,  it  shows  the  devil 
in  flames,  and  a  monk  fastening  a  chain  round  his  neck, 
to  keep  him  in  hell.  Ah,  here  come  the  judges  —  noble 
gentlemen!  dear  gentlemen!  Look  at  their  red  robes; 
how  beautiful!  Blessed  be  the  Virgin,  they've  been 
well  chosen!" 

"Every  man  of  them  is  a  personal  enemy  of  the 
[39] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

Cure,"  whispered  the  Count  du  Lude  to  the  advocate 
Fournier,  who  took  a  note  of  the  information. 

"Don't  you  know  them,  neighbors?"  pursued  the 
shrill,  sharp  voice  of  the  old  woman,  as  she  elbowed 
one  and  pinched  another  of  those  near  her  to  attract 
their  attention  to  the  objects  of  her  admiration;  "see, 
there's  excellent  Monsieur  Mignon,  whispering  to  Mes- 
sieurs the  Counsellors  of  the  Court  of  Poitiers;  Heaven 
bless  them  all,  say  I!" 

"Yes,  there  are  Roatin,  Richard,  and  Chevalier — 
the  very  men  who  tried  to  have  him  dismissed  a  year 
ago,"  continued  M.  du  Lude,  in  undertones,  to  the 
young  advocate,  who,  surrounded  and  hidden  from 
public  observation  by  the  group  of  dark-clad  citizens, 
was  writing  down  his  observations  in  a  note-book  under 
his  cloak. 

"Here;  look,  look!"  screamed  the  woman.  "Make 
way!  here's  Monsieur  Barre,  the  Cure  of  Saint- Jacques 
at  Chinon." 

"A  saint!"  murmured  one  bystander. 

"A  hypocrite!"  exclaimed  a  manly  voice. 

"See  how  thin  he  is  with  fasting!" 

"See  how  pale  he  is  with  remorse!" 

"He's  the  man  to  drive  away  devils!" 

"Yes,  but  not  till  he's  done  with  them  for  his  own 
purposes." 

The  dialogue  was  interrupted  by  the  general  excla- 
mation, "How  beautiful  she  is!" 

The  Superior  of  the  Ursulines  advanced,  followed  by 
all  her  nuns.  Her  white  veil  was  raised ;  in  order  that 
the  people  might  see  the  features  of  the  possessed  ones, 
[40] 


CINQ-MARS 

it  had  been  ordered  that  it  should  be  thus  with  her  and 
six  of  the  sisterhood.  Her  attire  had  no  distinguishing 
feature,  except  a  large  rosary  extending  from  her  neck 
nearly  to  her  feet,  from  which  hung  a  gold  cross;  but 
the  dazzling  pallor  of  her  face,  rendered  still  more  con- 
spicuous by  the  dark  hue  of  her  capuchon,  at  once  fixed 
the  general  gaze  upon  her.  Her  brilliant,  dark  eyes, 
which  bore  the  impress  of  some  deep  and  burning  pas- 
sion, were  crowned  with  eyebrows  so  perfectly  arched 
that  Nature  herself  seemed  to  have  taken  as  much  pains 
to  form  them  as  the  Circassian  women  to  pencil  theirs 
artistically;  but  between  them  a  slight  fold  revealed 
the  powerful  agitation  within.  In  her  movements, 
however,  and  throughout  her  whole  bearing,  she  affected 
perfect  calm;  her  steps  were  slow  and  measured,  and 
her  beautiful  hands  were  crossed  on  her  bosom,  as 
white  and  motionless  as  those  of  the  marble  statues 
joined  in  eternal  prayer. 

"See,  aunt,"  ejaculated  Martine,  "see  how  Sister 
Agnes  and  Sister  Claire  are  weeping,  next  to  the  Su- 
perior!" 

"Ay,  niece,  they  weep  because  they  are  the  prey  of 
the  demon." 

"Or  rather,"  interposed  the  same  manly  voice  that 
spoke  before,  "because  they  repent  of  having  mocked 
Heaven." 

A  deep  silence  now  pervaded  the  multitude;  not  a 
word  was  heard,  not  a  movement,  hardly  a  breath. 
Every  one  seemed  paralyzed  by  some  sudden  enchant- 
ment, when,  following  the  nuns,  among  four  Penitents 
who  held  him  in  chains,  appeared  the  Cure  of  the 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

Church  of  Ste.-Croix,  attired  in  his  pastor's  robe. 
His  was  a  noble,  fine  face,  with  grandeur  in  its  whole 
expression,  and  gentleness  in  every  feature.  Affecting 
no  scornful  indifference  to  his  position,  he  looked 
calmly  and  kindly  around,  as  if  he  sought  on  his  dark 
path  the  affectionate  glances  of  those  who  loved  him. 
Nor  did  he  seek  in  vain ;  here  and  there  he  encountered 
those  glances,  and  joyfully  returned  them.  He  even 
heard  sobs,  and  he  saw  hands  extended  toward  him, 
many  of  which  grasped  weapons.  But  no  gesture  of  his 
encouraged  these  mute  offers  of  aid;  he  lowered  his 
eyes  and  went  on,  careful  not  to  compromise  those  who 
so  trusted  in  him,  or  to  involve  them  in  his  own  misfor- 
tunes. This  was  Urbain  Grandier. 

Suddenly  the  procession  stopped,  at  a  sign  from  the 
man  who  walked  apart,  and  who  seemed  to  command 
its  progress.  He  was  tall,  thin,  sallow;  he  wore  a  long 
black  robe,  with  a  cap  of  the  same  material  and  color; 
he  had  the  face  of  a  Don  Basilic,  with  the  eye  of  Nero. 
He  motioned  the  guards  to  surround  him  more  closely, 
when  he  saw  with  affright  the  dark  group  we  have  men- 
tioned, and  the  strong-limbed  and  resolute  peasants 
who  seemed  in  attendance  upon  them.  Then,  advanc- 
ing somewhat  before  the  Canons  and  Capuchins  who 
were  with  him,  he  pronounced,  in  a  shrill  voice,  this  sin- 
gular decree : 

"We,  Sieur  de  Laubardemont,  referendary,  being  delegated  and 
invested  with  discretionary  power  in  the  matter  of  the  trial  of 
the  magician  Urbain  Grandier,  upon  the  various  articles  of  accu- 
sation brought  against  him,  assisted  by  the  reverend  Fathers 
Mignon,  canon,  Barrd,  curd  of  St.  Jacques  at  Chinon,  Father 
[42] 


CINQ-MARS 

Lactantius,  and  all  the  other  judges  appointed  to  try  the  said 
magician,  have  decreed  as  follows: 

"  Primo:  the  factitious  assembly  of  proprietors,  noble  citizens  of 
this  town  and  its  environs,  is  dissolved,  as  tending  to  popular 
sedition;  its  proceedings  are  declared  null,  and  its  letter  to  the 
King,  against  us,  the  judges,  which  has  been  intercepted,  shall 
be  publicly  burned  in  the  market-place  as  calumniating  the  good 
Ursulines  and  the  reverend  fathers  and  judges. 

"  Secundo:  it  is  forbidden  to  say,  publicly  or  in  private,  that  the 
said  nuns  are  not  possessed  by  the  Evil  Spirit,  or  to  doubt  of 
the  power  of  the  exorcists,  under  pain  of  a  fine  of  twenty  thou- 
sand livres,  and  corporal  punishment. 

"  Let  the  bailiffs  and  sheriffs  obey  this.  Given  the  eighteenth 
of  June,  in  the  year  of  grace  1639." 

Before  he  had  well  finished  reading  the  decree,  the 
discordant  blare  of  trumpets,  bursting  forth  at  a  pre- 
arranged signal,  drowned,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  mur- 
murs that  followed  its  proclamation,  amid  which  Lau- 
bardemont  urged  forward  the  procession,  which  entered 
the  great  building  already  referred  to — an  ancient  con- 
vent, whose  interior  had  crumbled  away,  its  walls  now 
forming  one  vast  hall,  well  adapted  for  the  purpose  to 
which  it  was  about  to  be  applied.  Laubardemont  did 
not  deem  himself  safe  until  he  was  within  the  building 
and  had  heard  the  heavy,  double  doors  creak  on  their 
hinges  as,  closing,  they  excluded  the  furious  crowd 
without. 


[43] 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  GOOD  PRIEST 
L'homme  de  paix  me  parla  ainsi.  —  VICAIRE  SAVOYARD. 


that  the  diabolical  procession  is 
in  the  arena  destined  for  its  spectacle, 
and  is  arranging  its  sanguinary  repre- 
sentation, let  us  see  what  Cinq-Mars 
had  been  doing  amid  the  agitated 
throng.  He  was  naturally  endowed 
with  great  tact,  and  he  felt  that  it 
would  be  no  easy  matter  for  him  to 
attain  his  object  of  seeing  the  Abbe  Quillet,  at  a  time 
when  public  excitement  was  at  its  height.  He  there- 
fore remained  on  horseback  with  his  four  servants  in  a 
small,  dark  street  that  led  into  the  main  thoroughfare, 
whence  he  could  see  all  that  passed.  No  one  at  first 
paid  any  attention  to  him;  but  when  public  curi- 
osity had  no  other  aliment,  he  became  an  object  of 
general  interest.  Weary  of  so  many  strange  scenes,  the 
inhabitants  looked  upon  him  with  some  exasperation, 
and  whispered  to  one  another,  asking  whether  this  was 
another  exorcist  come  among  them.  Feeling  that  it  was 
time  to  take  a  decided  course,  he  advanced  with  his 
attendants,  hat  in  hand,  toward  the  group  in  black  of 
whom  we  have  spoken,  and  addressing  him  who  ap- 
peared its  chief  member,  said,  "Monsieur,  where  can  I 
find  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Quillet?" 
[44] 


CINQ-MARS 

At  this  name,  all  regarded  him  with  an  air  of  terror, 
as  if  he  had  pronounced  that  of  Lucifer.  Yet  no  anger 
was  shown ;  on  the  contrary,  it  seemed  that  the  question 
had  favorably  changed  for  him  the  minds  of  all  who 
heard  him.  Moreover,  chance  had  served  him  well  in 
his  choice;  the  Comte  du  Lude  came  up  to  his  horse, 
and  saluting  him,  said,  "Dismount,  Monsieur,  and  I 
will  give  you  some  useful  information  concerning  him." 

After  speaking  a  while  in  whispers,  the  two  gentle- 
men separated  with  all  the  ceremonious  courtesy  of  the 
time.  Cinq-Mars  remounted  his  black  horse,  and  pass- 
ing through  numerous  narrow  streets,  was  soon  out  of 
the  crowd  with  his  retinue. 

"How  happy  I  am!"  he  soliloquized,  as  he  went  his 
way;  "I  shall,  at  all  events,  for  a  moment  see  the  good 
and  kind  clergyman  who  brought  me  up;  even  now  I 
recall  his  features,  his  calm  air,  his  voice  so  full  of  gen- 
tleness." 

As  these  tender  thoughts  filled  his  mind,  he  found 
himself  in  the  small,  dark  street  which  had  been  indi- 
cated to  him;  it  was  so  narrow  that  the  knee-pieces  of 
his  boots  touched  the  wall  on  each  side.  At  the  end  of 
the  street  he  came  to  a  one-storied  wooden  house,  and 
in  his  eagerness  knocked  at  the  door  with  repeated 
strokes. 

"Who  is  there ?"  cried  a  furious  voice  within;  and  at 
the  same  moment,  the  door  opening  revealed  a  little 
short,  fat  man,  with  a  very  red  face,  dressed  in  black, 
with  a  large  white  ruff,  and  riding-boots  which  engulfed 
his  short  legs  in  their  vast  depths.  In  his  hands  were  a 
pair  of  horse-pistols. 

[45] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"I  will  sell  my  life  dearly!"  he  cried;  "and " 

"Softly,  Abbe,  softly,"  said  his  pupil,  taking  his  arm; 
"we  are  friends." 

"Ah,  my  son,  is  it  you?"  said  the  good  man,  letting 
fall  his  pistols,  which  were  picked  up  by  a  domestic, 
also  armed  to  the  teeth.  "What  do  you  here?  The 
abomination  has  entered  the  town,  and  I  only  await  the 
night  to  depart.  Make  haste  within,  my  dear  boy,  with 
your  people.  I  took  you  for  the  archers  of  Laubarde- 
mont,  and,  faith,  I  intended  to  take  a  part  somewhat 
out  of  my  line.  You  see  the  horses  in  the  courtyard 
there;  they  will  convey  me  to  Italy,  where  I  shall  re- 
join our  friend,  the  Due  de  Bouillon.  Jean!  Jean! 
hasten  and  close  the  great  gate  after  Monsieur's  do- 
mestics, and  recommend  them  not  to  make  too  much 
noise,  although  for  that  matter  we  have  no  habitation 
near  us." 

Grandchamp  obeyed  the  intrepid  little  Abbe,  who 
then  embraced  Cinq- Mars  four  consecutive  times,  rais- 
ing himself  on  the  points  of  his  boots,  so  as  to  attain  the 
middle  of  his  pupil's  breast.  He  then  hurried  him  into 
a  small  room,  which  looked  like  a  deserted  granary; 
and  seating  him  beside  himself  upon  a  black  leather 
trunk,  he  said,  warmly: 

"Well,  my  son,  whither  go  you?  'How  came  Ma- 
dame la  Marechale  to  allow  you  to  come  here  ?  Do  you 
not  see  what  they  are  doing  against  an  unhappy  man, 
whose  death  alone  will  content  them?  Alas,  merciful 
Heaven!  is  this  the  first  spectacle  my  dear  pupil  is  to 
see?  And  you  at  that  delightful  period  of  life  when 
friendship,  love,  confidence,  should  alone  encompass 
[46] 


CINQ-MARS 

you;  when  all  around  you  should  give  you  a  favorable 
opinion  of  your  species,  at  your  very  entry  into  the  great 
world!  How  unfortunate!  alas,  why  did  you  come?" 

When  the  good  Abbe  had  followed  up  this  lamenta- 
tion by  pressing  affectionately  both  hands  of  the  young 
traveller  in  his  own,  so  red  and  wrinkled,  the  latter  an- 
swered : 

"Can  you  not  guess,  my  dear  Abbe,  that  I  came  to 
Loudun  because  you  are  here?  As  to  the  spectacle 
you  speak  of,  it  appears  to  me  simply  ridiculous;  and 
I  swear  that  I  do  not  a  whit  the  less  on  its  account 
love  that  human  race  of  which  your  virtues  and  your 
good  lessons  have  given  me  an  excellent  idea.  As  to  the 
five  or  six  mad  women  who " 

"Let  us  not  lose  time;  I  will  explain  to  you  all  that 
matter;  but  answer  me,  whither  go  you,  and  for  what  ?" 

"I  am  going  to  Perpignan,  where  the  Cardinal-Duke 
is  to  present  me  to  the  King." 

At  this  the  worthy  but  hasty  Abbe  rose  from  his  box, 
and  walked,  or  rather  ran,  to  and  fro,  stamping.  "  The 
Cardinal!  the  Cardinal!"  he  repeated,  almost  choking, 
his  face  becoming  scarlet,  and  the  tears  rising  to  his 
eyes;  "My  poor  child!  they  will  destroy  him!  Ah,  mon 
Dieu!  what  part  would  they  have  him  play  there? 
What  would  they  do  with  him?  Ah,  who  will  protect 
thee,  my  son,  in  that  dangerous  place?"  he  continued, 
reseating  himself,  and  again  taking  his  pupil's  hands  in 
his  own  with  a  paternal  solicitude,  as  he  endeavored  to 
read  his  thoughts  in  his  countenance. 

"Why,  I  do  not  exactly  know,"  said  Cinq-Mars, 
looking  up  at  the  ceiling;  "but  I  suppose  it  will  be  the 
[47] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

Cardinal  de  Richelieu,  who  was  the  friend  of  my 
father." 

"Ah,  my  dear  Henri,  you  make  me  tremble;  he  will 
ruin  you  unless  you  become  his  docile  instrument. 
Alas,  why  can  not  I  go  with  you  ?  Why  must  I  act  the 
young  man  of  twenty  in  this  unfortunate  affair  ?  Alas, 
I  should  be  perilous  to  you;  I  must,  on  the  contrary, 
conceal  myself.  But  you  will  have  Monsieur  de  Thou 
near  you,  my  son,  will  you  not?"  said  he,  trying  to  re- 
assure himself;  "he  was  your  friend  in  childhood, 
though  somewhat  older  than  yourself.  Heed  his  coun- 
sels, my  child,  he  is  a  wise  young  man  of  mature  reflec- 
tion and  solid  ideas." 

"Oh,  yes,  my  dear  Abbe,  you  may  depend  upon  my 
tender  attachment  for  him;  I  never  have  ceased  to  love 
him." 

"But  you  have  ceased  to  write  to  him,  have  you 
not?"  asked  the  good  Abbe,  half  smilingly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  Abbe,  I  wrote  to  him 
once,  and  again  yesterday,  to  inform  him  that  the  Car- 
dinal has  invited  me  to  court." 

"How!  has  he  himself  desired  your  presence?" 

Cinq-Mars  hereupon  showed  the  letter  of  the  Cardi- 
nal-Duke to  his  mother,  and  his  old  preceptor  grew 
gradually  calmer. 

"Ah,  well!"  said  he  to  himself,  "this  is  not  so  bad, 
perhaps,  after  all.  It  looks  promising;  a  captain  of  the 
guards  at  twenty — that  sounds  well!"  and  the  worthy 
Abbe's  face  became  all  smiles. 

The  young  man,  delighted  to  see  these  smiles,  which 
so  harmonized  with  his  own  thoughts,  fell  upon  the 
[48] 


CINQ-MARS 

neck  of  the  Abbe  and  embraced  him,  as  if  the  good  man 
had  thus  assured  to  him  a  futurity  of  pleasure,  glory, 
and  love. 

But  the  good  Abbe,  with  difficulty  disengaging  him- 
self from  this  warm  embrace,  resumed  his  walk,  his 
reflections,  and  his  gravity.  He  coughed  often  and 
shook  his  head ;  and  Cinq-Mars,  not  venturing  to  pur- 
sue the  conversation,  watched  him,  and  became  sad  as 
he  saw  him  become  serious. 

The  old  man  at  last  sat  down,  and  in  a  mournful  tone 
addressed  his  pupil : 

"My  friend,  my  son,  I  have  for  a  moment  yielded 
like  a  father  to  your  hopes;  but  I  must  tell  you,  and  it 
is  not  to  afflict  you,  that  they  appear  to  me  excessive 
and  unnatural.  If  the  Cardinal's  sole  aim  were  to  show 
attachment  and  gratitude  toward  your  family,  he  would 
not  have  carried  his  favors  so  far;  no,  the  extreme  prob- 
ability is  that  he  has  designs  upon  you.  From  what 
has  been  told  him,  he  thinks  you  adapted  to  play  some 
part,  as  yet  impossible  for  us  to  divine,  but  which  he 
himself  has  traced  out  in  the  deepest  recesses  of  his 
mind.  He  wishes  to  educate  you  for  this;  he  wishes  to 
drill  you  into  it.  Allow  me  the  expression  in  consider- 
ation of  its  accuracy,  and  think  seriously  of  it  when  the 
time  shall  come.  But  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that,  as 
matters  are,  you  would  do  well  to  follow  up  this  vein  in 
the  great  mine  of  State ;  in  this  way  high  fortunes  have 
begun.  You  must  only  take  heed  not  to  be  blinded  and 
led  at  will.  Let  not  favors  dazzle  you,  my  poor  child, 
and  let  not  elevation  turn  your  head.  Be  not  so  indig- 
nant at  the  suggestion ;  the  thing  has  happened  to  older 
4  [49] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

men  than  yourself.  Write  to  me  often,  as  well  as  to 
your  mother;  see  Monsieur  de  Thou,  and  together  we 
will  try  to  keep  you  in  good  counsel.  Now,  my  son,  be 
kind  enough  to  close  that  window  through  which  the 
wind  comes  upon  my  head,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  has 
been  going  on  here." 

Henri,  trusting  that  the  moral  part  of  the  discourse 
was  over,  and  anticipating  nothing  in  the  second  part 
but  a  narrative  more  or  less  interesting,  closed  the  old 
casement,  festooned  with  cobwebs,  and  resumed  his 
seat  without  speaking. 

"Now  that  I  reflect  further,"  continued  the  Abbe, 
"I  think  it  will  not  perhaps  be  unprofitable  for  you  to 
have  passed  through  this  place,  although  it  be  a  sad  ex- 
perience you  shall  have  acquired ;  but  it  will  supply  what 
I  may  not  have  formerly  told  you  of  the  wickedness  of 
men.  I  hope,  moreover,  that  the  result  will  not  be 
fatal,  and  that  the  letter  we  have  written  to  the  King 
will  arrive  in  time." 

"I  heard  that  it  had  been  intercepted,"  interposed 
Cinq-Mars. 

"Then  all  is  over,"  said  the  Abbe  Quillet ;  "the  Cur6 
is  lost.  But  listen.  God  forbid,  my  son,  that  I,  your 
old  tutor,  should  seek  to  assail  my  own  work,  and  at- 
tempt to  weaken  your  faith!  Preserve  ever  and  every- 
where that  simple  creed  of  which  your  noble  family  has 
given  you  the  example,  which  our  fathers  possessed  in 
a  still  higher  degree  than  we,  and  of  which  the  greatest 
captains  of  our  time  are  not  ashamed.  Always,  while 
you  wear  a  sword,  remember  that  you  hold  it  for  the 
service  of  God.  But  at  the  same  time,  when  you  are 
[50] 


CINQ-MARS 

among  men,  avoid  being  deceived  by  the  hypocrite. 
He  will  encompass  you,  my  son;  he  will  assail  you  on 
the  vulnerable  side  of  your  ingenuous  heart,  in  ad- 
dressing your  religion;  and  seeing  the  extravagance  of 
his  affected  zeal,  you  will  fancy  yourself  lukewarm  as 
compared  with  him.  You  will  think  that  your  con- 
science cries  out  against  you;  but  it  will  not  be  the 
voice  of  conscience  that  you  hear.  And  what  cries 
would  not  that  conscience  send  forth,  how  fiercely 
would  it  not  rise  upon  you,  did  you  contribute  to  the 
destruction  of  innocence  by  invoking  Heaven  itself  as 
a  false  witness  against  it?" 

"Oh,  my  father!  can  such  things  be  possible?"  ex- 
claimed Henri  d'Effiat,  clasping  his  hands. 

"It  is  but  too  true,"  continued  the  Abbe;  "you  saw 
a  partial  execution  of  it  this  morning.  God  grant  you 
may  not  witness  still  greater  horrors !  But  listen !  what- 
ever you  may  see,  whatever  crime  they  dare  to  commit, 
I  conjure  you,  in  the  name  of  your  mother  and  of  all 
that  you  hold  dear,  say  not  a  word ;  make  not  a  gesture 
that  may  indicate  any  opinion  whatever.  I  know  the 
impetuous  character  that  you  derive  from  the  Marechal, 
your  father;  curb  it,  or  you  are  lost.  These  little  ebul- 
litions of  passion  give  but  slight  satisfaction,  and  bring 
about  great  misfortunes.  I  have  observed  you  give  way 
to  them  too  much.  Oh,  did  you  but  know  the  advan- 
tage that  a  calm  temper  gives  one  over  men!  The  an- 
cients stamped  it  on  the  forehead  of  the  divinity  as  his 
finest  attribute,  since  it  shows  that  he  is  superior  to  our 
fears  and  to  our  hopes,  to  our  pleasures  and  to  our 
pains.  Therefore,  my  dear  child,  remain  passive  in  the 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

scenes  you  are  about  to  witness;  but  see  them  you 
must.  Be  present  at  this  sad  trial ;  for  me,  I  must  suf- 
fer the  consequences  of  my  schoolboy  folly.  I  will  re- 
late it  to  you ;  it  will  prove  to  you  that  with  a  bald  head 
one  may  be  as  much  a  child  as  with  your  fine  chestnut 
curls." 

And  the  excellent  old  Abbe,  taking  his  pupil's  head 
affectionately  between  his  hands,  continued  : 

"Like  other  people,  my  dear  son,  I  was  curious  to 
see  the  devils  of  the  Ursulines;  and  knowing  that  they 
professed  to  speak  all  languages,  I  was  so  imprudent  as 
to  cease  speaking  Latin  and  to  question  them  in  Greek. 
The  Superior  is  very  pretty,  but  she  does  not  know 
Greek!  Duncan,  the  physician,  observed  aloud  that  it 
was  surprising  that  the  demon,  who  knew  everything, 
should  commit  barbarisms  and  solecisms  in  Latin,  and 
not  be  able  to  answer  in  Greek.  The  young  Superior, 
who  was  then  upon  her  bed,  turned  toward  the  wall  to 
weep,  and  said  in  an  undertone  to  Father  Barre,  'I  can 
not  go  on  with  this,  father.'  I  repeated  her  words 
aloud,  and  infuriated  all  the  exorcists;  they  cried  out 
that  I  ought  to  know  that  there  are  demons  more  igno- 
rant than  peasants,  and  said  that  as  to  their  power  and 
physical  strength,  it  could  not  be  doubted,  since  the 
spirits  named  Gresil  des  Trones,  Aman  des  Puissance, 
and  Asmodeus,  had  promised  to  carry  off  the  calotte  of 
Monsieur  de  Laubardemont.  They  were  preparing  for 
this,  when  the  physician  Duncan,  a  learned  and  upright 
man,  but  somewhat  of  a  scoffer,  took  it  into  his  head  to 
pull  a  cord  he  discovered  fastened  to  a  column  like  a 
bell-rope,  and  which  hung  down  just  close  to  the  refer- 
[52] 


CINQ-MARS 

endary's  head;  whereupon  they  called  him  a  Hugue- 
not, and  I  am  satisfied  that  if  Marechal  de  Breze  were 
not  his  protector,  it  would  have  gone  ill  with  him.  The 
Comte  du  Lude  then  came  forward  with  his  customary 
sang-froid,  and  begged  the  exorcists  to  perform  before 
him.  Father  Lactantius,  the  Capuchin  with  the  dark 
visage  and  hard  look,  proceeded  with  Sister  Agnes  and 
Sister  Claire ;  he  raised  both  his  hands,  looking  at  them 
as  a  serpent  would  look  at  two  dogs,  and  cried  in  a  ter- 
rible voice,  'Quis  te  misit,  Diabole?'  and  the  two  sisters 
answered,  as  with  one  voice,  'Urbanus.'  He  was  about 
to  continue,  when  Monsieur  du  Lude,  taking  out  of  his 
pocket,  with  an  air  of  veneration,  a  small  gold  box,  said 
that  he  had  in  it  a  relic  left  by  his  ancestors,  and  that 
though  not  doubting  the  fact  of  the  possession,  he  wished 
to  test  it.  Father  Lactantius  seized  the  box  with  de- 
light, and  hardly  had  he  touched  the  foreheads  of  the 
two  sisters  with  it  when  they  made  great  leaps  and 
twisted  about  their  hands  and  feet.  Lactantius  shouted 
forth  his  exorcisms;  Barre  threw  himself  upon  his 
knees  with  all  the  old  women;  and  Mignon  and  the 
judges  applauded.  The  impassible  Laubardemont 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  without  being  struck  dead 
for  it !  When  Monsieur  du  Lude  took  back  his  box  the 
nuns  became  still.  'I  think,'  said  Lactantius,  inso- 
lently, 'that  you  will  not  question  your  relics  now.' 
'No  more  than  I  do  the  possession,'  answered  Monsieur 
du  Lude,  opening  his  box  and  showing  that  it  was 
empty.  'Monsieur,  you  mock  us,'  said  Lactantius.  I 
was  indignant  at  these  mummeries,  and  said  to  him, 
'Yes,  Monsieur,  as  you  mock  God  and  men.'  And  this, 
[53] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

my  dear  friend,  is  the  reason  why  you  see  me  in  my 
seven-league  boots,  so  heavy  that  they  hurt  my  legs, 
and  with  pistols;  for  our  friend  Laubardemont  has  or- 
dered my  person  to  be  seized,  and  I  don't  choose  it  to 
be  seized,  old  as  it  is." 

"What,  is  he  so  powerful,  then?"  cried  Cinq-Mars. 

"More  so  than  is  supposed  —  more  so  than  could  be 
believed.  I  know  that  the  possessed  Abbess  is  his 
niece,  and  that  he  is  provided  with  an  order  in  council 
directing  him  to  judge,  without  being  deterred  by  any 
appeals  lodged  in  Parliament,  the  Cardinal  having  pro- 
hibited the  latter  from  taking  cognizance  of  the  matter 
of  Urbain  Grandier." 

"And  what  are  his  offences?"  asked  the  young  man, 
already  deeply  interested. 

"Those  of  a  strong  mind  and  of  a  great  genius,  an 
inflexible  will  which  has  irritated  power  against  him, 
and  a  profound  passion  which  has  driven  his  heart  and 
him  to  commit  the  only  mortal  sin  with  which  I  believe 
he  can  be  reproached ;  and  it  was  only  by  violating  the 
sanctity  of  his  private  papers,  which  they  tore  from 
Jeanne  d'Estievre,  his  mother,  an  old  woman  of  eighty, 
that  they  discovered  his  love  for  the  beautiful  Made- 
leine de  Brou.  This  girl  had  refused  to  marry,  and 
wished  to  take  the  veil.  May  that  veil  have  concealed 
from  her  the  spectacle  of  this  day!  The  eloquence  of 
Grandier  and  his  angelic  beauty  drove  the  women  half 
mad;  they  came  miles  and  miles  to  hear  him.  I  have 
seen  them  swoon  during  his  sermons;  they  declared 
him  an  angel,  and  touched  his  garment  and  kissed  his 
hands  when  he  descended  from  the  pulpit.  It  is  cer- 
[54] 


CINQ-MARS 

tain  that,  unless  it  be  his  beauty,  nothing  could  equal 
the  sublimity  of  his  discourses,  ever  full  of  inspiration. 
The  pure  honey  of  the  gospel  combined  on  his  lips  with 
the  flashing  flame  of  the  prophecies;  and  one  recog- 
nized in  the  sound  of  his  voice  a  heart  overflowing  with 
holy  pity  for  the  evils  to  which  mankind  are  subject, 
and  filled  with  tears,  ready  to  flow  for  us." 

The  good  priest  paused,  for  his  own  voice  and  eyes 
were  filled  with  tears;  his  round  and  naturally  joy- 
ous face  was  more  touching  than  a  graver  one  under 
the  same  circumstances,  for  it  seemed  as  if  it  bade  de- 
fiance to  sadness.  Cinq-Mars,  even  more  moved, 
pressed  his  hand  without  speaking,  fearful  of  interrupt- 
ing him.  The  Abbe*  took  out  a  red  handkerchief,  wiped 
his  eyes,  and  continued: 

"This  is  the  second  attack  upon  Urbain  by  his  com- 
bined enemies.  He  had  already  been  accused  of  be- 
witching the  nuns;  but,  examined  by  holy  prelates,  by 
enlightened  magistrates,  and  learned  physicians,  he  was 
immediately  acquitted,  and  the  judges  indignantly  im- 
posed silence  upon  these  devils  in  human  form.  The 
good  and  pious  Archbishop  of  Bordeaux,  who  had  him- 
self chosen  the  examiners  of  these  pretended  exorcists, 
drove  the  prophets  away  and  shut  up  their  hell.  But, 
humiliated  by  the  publicity  of  the  result,  annoyed  at 
seeing  Grandier  kindly  received  by  our  good  King 
when  he  threw  himself  at  his  feet  at  Paris,  they  saw 
that  if  he  triumphed  they  were  lost,  and  would  be  uni- 
versally regarded  as  impostors.  Already  the  convent 
of  the  Ursulines  was  looked  upon  only  as  a  theatre  for 
disgraceful  comedies,  and  the  nuns  themselves  as  shame- 
[55] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

less  actresses.  More  than  a  hundred  persons,  furious 
against  the  Cure,  had  compromised  themselves  in  the 
hope  of  destroying  him.  Their  plot,  instead  of  being 
abandoned,  has  gained  strength  by  its  first  check ;  and 
here  are  the  means  that  have  been  set  to  work  by  his 
implacable  enemies. 

"Do  you  know  a  man  called  L>  Eminence  Grise,  that 
formidable  Capuchin  whom  the  Cardinal  employs  in  all 
things,  consults  upon  some,  and  always  despises?  It 
was  to  him  that  the  Capuchins  of  Loudun  addressed 
themselves.  A  woman  of  this  place,  of  low  birth,  named 
Hamon,  having  been  so  fortunate  as  to  please  the  Queen 
when  she  passed  through  Loudun,  was  taken  into  her 
service.  You  know  the  hatred  that  separates  her  court 
from  that  of  the  Cardinal ;  you  know  that  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria and  Monsieur  de  Richelieu  have  for  some  time  dis- 
puted for  the  King's  favor,  and  that,  of  her  two  suns, 
France  never  knew  in  the  evening  which  would  rise 
next  morning.  During  a  temporary  eclipse  of  the  Car- 
dinal, a  satire  appeared,  issuing  from  the  planetary  sys- 
tem of  the  Queen;  it  was  called,  La  cordonniere  de  la 
reine-mere.  Its  tone  and  language  were  vulgar;  but  it 
contained  things  so  insulting  about  the  birth  and  per- 
son of  the  Cardinal  that  the  enemies  of  the  minister 
took  it  up  and  gave  it  a  publicity  which  irritated  him. 
It  revealed,  it  is  said,  many  intrigues  and  mysteries 
which  he  had  deemed  impenetrable.  He  read  this 
anonymous  work,  and  desired  to  know  its  author.  It 
was  just  at  this  time  that  the  Capuchins  of  this  town 
wrote  to  Father  Joseph  that  a  constant  correspondence 
between  Grandier  and  La  Hamon  left  no  doubt  in  their 
[56] 


CINQ-MARS 

minds  as  to  his  being  the  author  of  this  diatribe.  It 
was  in  vain  that  he  had  previously  published  religious 
books,  prayers,  and  meditations,  the  style  of  which 
alone  ought  to  have  absolved  him  from  having  put  his 
hand  to  a  libel  written  in  the  language  of  the  market- 
place; the  Cardinal,  long  since  prejudiced  against  Ur- 
bain,  was  determined  to  fix  upon  him  as  the  culprit. 
He  remembered  that  when  he  was  only  prior  of  Cous- 
say,  Grandier  disputed  precedence  with  him  and  gained 
it;  I  fear  this  achievement  of  precedence  in  life  will 
make  poor  Grandier  precede  the  Cardinal  in  death 
also." 

A  melancholy  smile  played  upon  the  lips  of  the  good 
Abbe  as  he  uttered  this  involuntary  pun. 

"What!  do  you  think  this  matter  will  go  so  far  as 
death?" 

"  Ay,  my  son,  even  to  death;  they  have  already  taken 
away  all  the  documents  connected  with  his  former  ab- 
solution that  might  have  served  for  his  defence,  despite 
the  opposition  of  his  poor  mother,  who  preserved  them 
as  her  son's  license  to  live.  Even  now  they  affect  to 
regard  a  work  against  the  celibacy  of  priests,  found 
among  his  papers,  as  destined  to  propagate  schism.  It 
is  a  culpable  production,  doubtless,  and  the  love  which 
dictated  it,  however  pure  it  may  be,  is  an  enormous  sin 
in  a  man  consecrated  to  God  alone;  but  this  poor 
priest  was  far  from  wishing  to  encourage  heresy,  and  it 
was  simply,  they  say,  to  appease  the  remorse  of  Made- 
moiselle de  Brou  that  he  composed  the  work.  It  was 
so  evident  that  his  real  faults  would  not  suffice  to  con- 
demn him  to  death  that  they  have  revived  the  accusa- 
[57] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

tion  of  sorcery,  long  since  disposed  of;  but,  feigning  to 
believe  this,  the  Cardinal  has  established  a  new  tribunal 
in  this  town,  and  has  placed  Laubardemont  at  its  head, 
— a  sure  sign  of  death.  Heaven  grant  that  you  never 
become  acquainted  with  what  the  corruption  of  gov- 
ernments call  coups-d'etatl" 

At  this  moment  a  terrible  shriek  sounded  from  be- 
yond the  wall  of  the  courtyard ;  the  Abbe  arose  in  ter- 
ror, as  did  Cinq-Mars. 

"It  is  the  cry  of  a  woman,"  said  the  old  man. 

"'Tis  heartrending!"  exclaimed  Cinq-Mars.  "What 
is  it?"  he  asked  his  people,  who  had  all  rushed  out  into 
the  courtyard. 

They  answered  that  they  heard  nothing  further. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  Abbe,  "make  no  noise."  He 
then  shut  the  window,  and  put  his  hands  before  his  eyes. 

"Ah,  what  a  cry  was  that,  my  son!"  he  said,  with  his 
face  of  an  ashy  paleness — "what  a  cry!  It  pierced  my 
very  soul ;  some  calamity  has  happened.  Ah,  holy  Vir- 
gin! it  has  so  agitated  me  that  I  can  talk  with  you  no 
more.  Why  did  I  hear  it,  just  as  I  was  speaking  to  you 
of  your  future  career  ?  My  dear  child,  may  God  bless 
you!  Kneel!" 

Cinq-Mars  did  as  he  was  desired,  and  knew  by  a 
kiss  upon  his  head  that  he  had  been  blessed  by  the  old 
man,  who  then  raised  him,  saying : 

"Go,  my  son,  the  time  is  advancing;  they  might  find 
you  with  me.  Go,  leave  your  people  and  horses  here ; 
wrap  yourself  in  a  cloak,  and  go;  I  have  much  to  write 
ere  the  hour  when  darkness  shall  allow  me  to  depart  for 
Italy." 

[58] 


CINQ-MARS 

They  embraced  once  more,  promising  to  write  to 
each  other,  and  Henri  quitted  the  house.  The  Abbe, 
still  following  him  with  his  eyes  from  the  window,  cried : 

"Be  prudent,  whatever  may  happen,"  and  sent  him 
with  his  hands  one  more  paternal  blessing,  saying, 
"Poor  child!  poor  child!" 


[59] 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  TRIAL 

Oh,  vendetta  di  Dio,  quanto  tu  dei 
Esser  temuta  da  ciascun  che  legge 
Cio,  che  fu  manifesto  agli  occhi  miei. — DANTE. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  custom  of 

having  secret  trials,  freely  counte- 
nanced by  Richelieu,  the  judges  of 
the  Cure  of  Loudun  had  resolved 
that  the  court  should  be  open  to  the 
public;  but  they  soon  repented  this 
measure.  They  were  all  interested 
in  the  destruction  of  Urbain  Grandier; 
but  they  desired  that  the  indignation  of  the  country 
should  in  some  degree  sanction  the  sentence  of  death 
they  had  received  orders  to  pass  and  to  carry  into 
effect. 

Laubardemont  was  a  kind  of  bird  of  prey,  whom 
the  Cardinal  always  let  loose  when  he  required  a 
prompt  and  sure  agent  for  his  vengeance;  and  on 
this  occasion  he  fully  justified  the  choice  that  had 
been  made  of  him.  He  committed  but  one  error — 
that  of  allowing  a  public  trial,  contrary  to  the  usual 
custom;  his  object  had  been  to  intimidate  and  to  dis- 
may. He  dismayed,  indeed,  but  he  created  also  a 
feeling  of  indignant  horror. 

[60] 


CINQ-MARS 

The  throng  without  the  gates  had  waited  there  two 
hours,  during  which  time  the  sound  of  hammers  in- 
dicated that  within  the  great  hall  they  were  hastily 
completing  their  mysterious  preparations.  At  length 
the  archers  laboriously  turned  upon  their  hinges  the 
heavy  gates  opening  into  the  street,  and  the  crowd 
eagerly  rushed  in.  The  young  Cinq-Mars  was  carried 
along  with  the  second  enormous  wave,  and,  placed 
behind  a  thick  column,  stood  there,  so  as  to  be  able  to 
see  without  being  seen.  He  observed  with  vexation 
that  the  group  of  dark-clad  citizens  was  near  him; 
but  the  great  gates,  closing,  left  the  part  of  the  court 
where  the  people  stood  in  such  darkness  that  there 
was  no  likelihood  of  his  being  recognized.  Although 
it  was  only  midday,  the  hall  was  lighted  with  torches; 
but  they  were  nearly  all  placed  at  the  farther  end, 
where  rose  the  judges'  bench  behind  a  long  table. 
The  chairs,  tables,  and  steps  -were  all  covered  with 
black  cloth,  and  cast  a  livid  hue  over  the  faces  of  those 
near  them.  A  seat  reserved  for  the  prisoner  was 
placed  upon  the  left,  and  on  the  crape  robe  which 
covered  him  flames  were  represented  in  gold  em- 
broidery to  indicate  the  nature  of  the  offence.  Here 
sat  the  accused,  surrounded  by  archers,  with  his  hands 
still  bound  in  chains,  held  by  two  monks,  who,  with 
simulated  terror,  affected  to  start  from  him  at  his 
slightest  motion,  as  if  they  held  a  tiger  or  enraged 
wolf,  or  as  if  the  flames  depicted  on  his  robe  could 
communicate  themselves  to  their  clothing.  They  also 
carefully  kept  his  face  from  being  seen  in  the  least 
degree  by  the  people. 

[6iJ 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

The  impassible  countenance  of  M.  de  Laubarde- 
mont  was  there  to  dominate  the  judges  of  his  choice; 
almost  a  head  taller  than  any  of  them,  he  sat  upon  a 
seat  higher  than  theirs,  and  each  of  his  glassy  and 
uneasy  glances  seemed  to  convey  a  command.  He 
wore  a  long,  full  scarlet  robe,  and  a  black  cap  covered 
his  head;  he  seemed  occupied  in  arranging  papers, 
which  he  then  passed  to  the  judges.  The  accusers, 
all  ecclesiastics,  sat  upon  the  right  hand  of  the  judges; 
they  wore  their  albs  and  stoles.  Father  Lactantius 
was  distinguishable  among  them  by  his  simple  Ca- 
puchin habit,  his  tonsure,  and  the  extreme  hardness 
of  his  features.  In  a  side  gallery  sat  the  Bishop  of 
Poitiers,  hidden  from  view;  other  galleries  were  filled 
with  veiled  women.  Below  the  bench  of  judges  a 
group  of  men  and  women,  the  dregs  of  the  populace, 
stood  behind  six  young  Ursuline  nuns,  who  seemed 
full  of  disgust  at  their  proximity;  these  were  the  wit- 
nesses. 

The  rest  of  the  hall  was  filled  with  an  enormous 
crowd,  gloomy  and  silent,  clinging  to  the  arches,  the 
gates,  and  the  beams,  and  full  of  a  terror  which  com- 
municated itself  to  the  judges,  for  it  arose  from  an 
interest  in  the  accused.  Numerous  archers,  armed 
with  long  pikes,  formed  an  appropriate  frame  for  this 
lugubrious  picture. 

At  a  sign  from  the  President,  the  witnesses  with- 
drew through  a  narrow  door  opened  for  them  by  an 
usher.  As  the  Superior  of  the  Ursulines  passed  M. 
de  Laubardemont  she  was  heard  to  say  to  him,  "You 
have  deceived  me,  Monsieur."  He  remained  immov- 
[62] 


CINQ-MARS 

able,  and  she  went  on.  A  profound  silence  reigned 
throughout  the  whole  assembly. 

Rising  with  all  the  gravity  he  could  assume,  but  still 
with  visible  agitation,  one  of  the  judges,  named  Hou- 
main,  Judge- Advocate  of  Orleans,  read  a  sort  of  indict- 
ment in  a  voice  so  low  and  hoarse  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  follow  it.  He  made  himself  heard  only  when 
what  he  had  to  say  was  intended  to  impose  upon  the 
minds  of  the  people.  He  divided  the  evidence  into 
two  classes:  one,  the  depositions  of  seventy-two  wit- 
nesses; the  other,  more  convincing,  that  resulting  from 
"the  exorcisms  of  the  reverend  fathers  here  present," 
said  he,  crossing  himself. 

Fathers  Lactantius,  Barre,  and  Mignon  bowed  low, 
repeating  the  sacred  sign. 

"Yes,  my  lords,"  said  Houmain,  addressing  the 
judges,  "this  bouquet  of  white  roses  and  this  manu- 
script, signed  with  the  blood  of  the  magician,  a  counter- 
part of  the  contract  he  has  made  with  Lucifer,  and 
which  he  was  obliged  to  carry  about  him  in  order  to 
preserve  his  power,  have  been  recognized  and  brought 
before  you.  We  read  with  horror  these  words  written 
at  the  bottom  of  the  parchment :  '  The  original  is  in 
hell,  in  Lucifer's  private  cabinet.1"1 

A  roar  of  laughter,  which  seemed  to  come  from 
stentorian  lungs,  was  heard  in  the  throng.  The  presi- 
dent reddened,  and  made  a  sign  to  the  archers,  who 
in  vain  endeavored  to  discover  the  disturber.  The 
Judge- Advocate  continued : 

"The  demons  have  been  forced  to  declare  their 
names  by  the  mouths  of  their  victims.  Their  names 
[63] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

and  deeds  are  deposited  upon  this  table.  They  are 
called  Astaroth,  of  the  order  of  Seraphim;  Eazas, 
Celsus,  Acaos,  Cedron,  Asmodeus,  of  the  order  of 
Thrones,  Alex,  Zebulon,  Cham,  Uriel,  and  Achas, 
of  the  order  of  Principalities,  and  so  on,  for  their  num- 
ber is  infinite.  For  their  actions,  who  among  us  has 
not  been  a  witness  of  them?" 

A  prolonged  murmur  arose  from  the  gathering, 
but,  upon  some  halberdiers  advancing,  all  became 
silent. 

"We  have  seen,  with  grief,  the  young  and  respecta- 
ble Superior  of  the  Ursulines  tear  her  bosom  with  her 
own  hands  and  grovel  in  the  dust;  we  have  seen  the 
sisters,  Agnes,  Claire,  and  others,  deviate  from  the 
modesty  of  their  sex  by  impassioned  gestures  and  un- 
seemly laughter.  When  impious  men  have  inclined 
to  doubt  the  presence  of  the  demons,  and  we  ourselves 
felt  our  convictions  shaken,  because  they  refused  to 
answer  to  unknown  questions  in  Greek  or  Arabic,  the 
reverend  fathers  have,  to  establish  our  belief,  deigned 
to  explain  to  us  that  the  malignity  of  evil  spirits  being 
extreme,  it  was  not  surprising  that  they  should  feign 
this  ignorance  in  order  that  they  might  be  less  pressed 
with  questions;  and  that  in  their  answers  they  had 
committed  various  solecisms  and  other  grammatical 
faults  in  order  to  bring  contempt  upon  themselves,  so 
that  out  of  this  disdain  the  holy  doctors  might  leave 
them  in  quiet.  Their  hatred  is  so  inveterate  that 
just  before  performing  one  of  their  miraculous  feats, 
they  suspended  a  rope  from  a  beam  in  order  to  involve 
the  reverend  personages  in  a  suspicion  of  fraud,  where- 
[64] 


CINQ-MARS 

as  it  has  been  deposed  on  oath  by  credible  people  that 
there  never  had  been  a  cord  in  that  place. 

"But,  my  lords,  while  Heaven  was  thus  miraculously 
explaining  itself  by  the  mouths  of  its  holy  interpre- 
ters, another  light  has  just  been  thrown  upon  us.  At 
the  very  time  the  judges  were  absorbed  in  profound 
meditation,  a  loud  cry  was  heard  near  the  hall  of  coun- 
cil; and  upon  going  to  the  spot,  we  found  the  body 
of  a  young  lady  of  high  birth.  She  had  just  exhaled 
her  last  breath  in  the  public  street,  in  the  arms  of 
the  reverend  Father  Mignon,  Canon;  and  we  learned 
from  the  said  father  here  present,  and  from  several 
other  grave  personages,  that,  suspecting  the  young 
lady  to  be  possessed,  by  reason  of  the  current  rumor 
for  some  time  past  of  the  admiration  Urbain  Grandier 
had  for  her,  an  idea  of  testing  it  happily  occurred  to 
the  Canon,  who  suddenly  said,  approaching  her,  'Gran- 
dier has  just  been  put  to  death,'  whereat  she  uttered 
one  loud  scream  and  fell  dead,  deprived  by  the  demon 
of  the  time  necessary  for  giving  her  the  assistance  of 
our  holy  Mother,  the  Catholic  Church." 

A  murmur  of  indignation  arose  from  the  crowd, 
among  whom  the  word  "Assassin"  was  loudly  re- 
echoed; the  halberdiers  commanded  silence  with  a 
loud  voice,  but  it  was  obtained  rather  by  the  judge  re- 
suming his  address,  the  general  curiosity  triumphing. 

"Oh,  infamy!"  he  continued,  seeking  to  fortify  him- 
self by  exclamations;  "upon  her  person  was  found 
this  work,  written  by  the  hand  of  Urbain  Grandier," 
and  he  took  from  among  his  papers  a  book  bound  in 
parchment. 

5  [65] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"Heavens!"  cried  Urbain  from  his  seat. 

"Look  to  your  prisoner!"  cried  the  judge  to  the 
archers  who  surrounded  him. 

"No  doubt  the  demon  is  about  to  manifest  him- 
self," said  Father  Lactantius,  in  a  sombre  voice; 
"tighten  his  bonds. "  He  was  obeyed. 

The  Judge- Advocate  continued,  "Her  name  was 
Madeleine  de  Brou,  aged  nineteen." 

"O  God!  this  is  too  much!"  cried  the  accused,  as 
he  fell  fainting  on  the  ground. 

The  assembly  was  deeply  agitated;  for  a  moment 
there  was  an  absolute  tumult. 

"Poor  fellow!  he  loved  her,"  said  some. 

"So  good  a  lady!"  cried  the  women. 

Pity  began  to  predominate.  Cold  water  was  thrown 
upon  Grandier,  without  his  being  taken  from  the 
court,  and  he  was  tied  to  his  seat.  The  Judge-Advo- 
cate went  on: 

"We  are  directed  to  read  the  beginning  of  this  book 
to  the  court,"  and  he  read  as  follows: 

"  'It  is  for  thee,  dear  and  gentle  Madeleine,  in  order  to  set  at 
rest  thy  troubled  conscience,  that  I  have  described  in  this  book 
one  thought  of  my  soul.  All  those  thoughts  tend  to  thee,  celestial 
creature,  because  in  thee  they  return  to  the  aim  and  object  of 
my  whole  existence;  but  the  thought  I  send  thee,  as  'twere  a 
flower,  comes  from  thee,  exists  only  in  thee,  and  returns  to  thee 
alone. 

"'Be  not  sad  because  thou  lovest  me;  be  not  afflicted  because 
I  adore  thee.  The  angels  of  heaven,  what  is  it  that  they  do? 
The  souls  of  the  blessed,  what  is  it  that  is  promised  them  ?  Are 
we  less  pure  than  the  angels?  Are  our  souls  less  separated  from 
the  earth  than  they  will  be  after  death?  Oh,  Madeleine,  what 
[66] 


CINQ-MARS 

is  there  in  us  wherewith  the  Lord  can  be  displeased  ?  Can  it  be 
that  we  pray  together,  that  with  faces  prostrate  in  the  dust  before 
His  altars,  we  ask  for  early  death  to  take  us  while  yet  youth  and 
love  are  ours?  Or  that,  musing  together  beneath  the  funereal 
trees  of  the  churchyard,  we  yearned  for  one  grave,  smiling  at 
the  idea  of  death,  and  weeping  at  life?  Or  that,  when  thou 
kneelest  before  me  at  the  tribunal  of  penitence,  and,  speaking 
in  the  presence  of  God,  canst  find  naught  of  evil  to  reveal  to  me, 
so  wholly  have  I  kept  thy  soul  in  the  pure  regions  of  heaven? 
What,  then,  could  offend  our  Creator?  Perhaps — yes!  perhaps 
some  spirit  of  heaven  may  have  envied  me  my  happiness  when 
on  Easter  morn  I  saw  thee  kneeling  before  me,  purified  by  long 
austerities  from  the  slight  stain  which  original  sin  had  left  in  thee! 
Beautiful,  indeed,  wert  thou!  Thy  glance  sought  thy  God  in 
heaven,  and  my  trembling  hand  held  His  image  to  thy  pure  lips, 
which  human  lip  had  never  dared  to  breathe  upon.  Angelic 
being!  I  alone  participated  in  the  secret  of  the  Lord,  in  the  one 
secret  of  the  entire  purity  of  thy  soul;  I  it  was  that  united  thee 
to  thy  Creator,  who  at  that  moment  descended  also  into  my 
bosom.  Ineffable  espousals,  of  which  the  Eternal  himself  was 
the  priest,  you  alone  were  permitted  between  the  virgin  and  her 
pastor!  the  sole  joy  of  each  was  to  see  eternal  happiness  begin- 
ning for  the  other,  to  inhale  together  the  perfumes  of  heaven, 
to  drink  in  already  the  harmony  of  the  spheres,  and  to  feel  as- 
sured that  our  souls,  unveiled  to  God  and  to  ourselves  alone, 
were  worthy  together  to  adore  Him. 

'"What  scruple  still  weighs  upon  thy  soul,  O  my  sister? 
Dost  thou  think  I  have  offered  too  high  a  worship  to  thy  virtue? 
Fearest  thou  so  pure  an  admiration  should  deter  me  from  that 
of  the  Lord?'" 

Houmain  had  reached  this  point  when  the  door 

through  which  the  witnesses  had  withdrawn  suddenly 

opened.     The   judges   anxiously   whispered   together. 

Laubardemont,  uncertain  as  to  the  meaning  of  this, 

[67] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

signed  to  the  fathers  to  let  him  know  whether  this  was 
some  scene  executed  by  their  orders;  but,  seated  at 
some  distance  from  him,  and  themselves  taken  by  sur- 
prise, they  could  not  make  him  understand  that  they 
had  not  prepared  this  interruption.  Besides,  ere  they 
could  exchange  looks,  to  the  amazement  of  the  assem- 
bly, three  women,  en  chemise,  with  naked  feet,  each 
with  a  cord  round  her  neck  and  a  wax  taper  in  her 
hand,  came  through  the  door  and  advanced  to  the 
middle  of  the  platform.  It  was  the  Superior  of  the 
Ursulines,  followed  by  Sisters  Agnes  and  Claire.  Both 
the  latter  were  weeping;  the  Superior  was  very  pale, 
but  her  bearing  was  firm,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  and 
tearless.  She  knelt;  her  companions  followed  her 
example.  Everything  was  in  such  confusion  that  no 
one  thought  of  checking  them;  and  in  a  clear,  firm 
voice  she  pronounced  these  words,  which  resounded  in 
every  corner  of  the  hall: 

"In  the  name  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  I,  Jeanne  de 
Belfiel,  daughter  of  the  Baron  de  Cose,  I,  the  unworthy 
Superior  of  the  Convent  of  the  Ursulines  of  Loudun, 
ask  pardon  of  God  and  man  for  the  crime  I  have  com- 
mitted in  accusing  the  innocent  Urbain  Grandier.  My 
possession  was  feigned,  my  words  were  dictated;  re- 
morse overwhelms  me." 

"  Bravo  S"  cried  the  spectators,  clapping  their  hands. 
The  judges  arose ;  the  archers,  in  doubt,  looked  at  the 
president;  he  shook  in  every  limb,  but  did  not  change 
countenance. 

"Let  all  be  silent,"  he  said,  in  a  sharp  voice;  "arch- 
ers, do  your  duty." 

[68] 


CINQ-MARS 

This  man  felt  himself  supported  by  so  strong  a  hand 
that  nothing  could  affright  him — for  no  thought  of 
Heaven  ever  visited  him. 

"What  think  you,  my  fathers?"  said  he,  making  a 
sign  to  the  monks. 

"That  the  demon  seeks  to  save  his  friend.  Ob- 
mutesce,  Satanasl"  cried  Father  Lactantius,  in  a  ter- 
rible voice,  affecting  to  exorcise  the  Superior. 

Never  did  fire  applied  to  gunpowder  produce  an 
effect  more  instantaneous  than  did  these  two  words. 
Jeanne  de  Belfiel  started  up  in  all  the  beauty  of  twenty, 
which  her  awful  nudity  served  to  augment ;  she  seemed 
a  soul  escaped  from  hell  appearing  to  her  seducer. 
With  her  dark  eyes  she  cast  fierce  glances  upon,  the 
monks;  Lactantius  lowered  his  beneath  that  look. 
She  took  two  steps  toward  him  with  her  bare  feet, 
beneath  which  the  scaffolding  rung,  so  energetic  was 
her  movement;  the  taper  seemed,  in  her  hand,  the 
sword  of  the  avenging  angel. 

"Silence,  impostor!"  she  cried,  with  warmth;  "the 
demon  who  possessed  me  was  yourself.  You  deceived 
me;  you  said  he  was  not  to  be  tried.  To-day,  for  the 
first  time,  I  know  that  he  is  to  be  tried ;  to-day,  for  the 
first  time,  I  know  that  he  is  to  be  murdered.  And  I 
will  speak!" 

"Woman,  the  demon  bewilders  thee." 

"  Say,  rather,  that  repentence  enlightens  me.  Daugh- 
ters, miserable  as  myself,  arise;  is  he  not  innocent?" 

"We  swear  he  is,"  said  the  two  young  lay  sisters, 
still  kneeling  and  weeping,  for  they  were  not  animated 
with  so  strong  a  resolution  as  that  of  the  Superior, 
[69] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

Agnes,  indeed,  had  hardly  uttered  these  words  when 
turning  toward  the  people,  she  cried,  "Help  me!  they 
will  punish  me;  they  will  kill  me!"  And  hurrying 
away  her  companion,  she  drew  her  into  the  crowd, 
who  affectionately  received  them.  A  thousand  voices 
swore  to  protect  them.  Imprecations  arose;  the  men 
struck  their  staves  against  the  floor;  the  officials  dared 
not  prevent  the  people  from  passing  the  sisters  on  from 
one  to  another  into  the  street. 

During  this  strange  scene  the  amazed  and  panic- 
struck  judges  whispered;  M.  Laubardemont  looked  at 
the  archers,  indicating  to  them  the  points  they  were 
especially  to  watch,  among  which,  more  particularly, 
was  that  occupied  by  the  group  in  black.  The  ac- 
cusers looked  toward  the  gallery  of  the  Bishop  of 
Poitiers,  but  discovered  no  expression  in  his  dull  coun- 
tenance. He  was  one  of  those  old  .men  of  whom 
death  appears  to  take  possession  ten  years  before  all 
motion  entirely  ceases  in  them.  His  eyes  seemed 
veiled  by  a  half  sleep;  his  gaping  mouth  mumbled  a 
few  vague  and  habitual  words  of  prayer  without  mean- 
ing or  application;  the  entire  amount  of  intelligence 
he  retained  was  the  ability  to  distinguish  the  man  who 
had  most  power,  and  him  he  obeyed,  regardless  at 
what  price.  He  had  accordingly  signed  the  sentence 
of  the  doctors  of  the  Sorbonne  which  declared  the 
nuns  possessed,  without  even  deducing  thence  the 
consequence  of  the  death  of  Urbain;  the  rest  seemed 
to  him  one  of  those  more  or  less  lengthy  ceremonies, 
to  which  he  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  —  accus- 
tomed as  he  was  to  see  and  live  among  them,  him- 


CINQ-MARS 

self  an  indispensable  part  and  parcel  of  them.  He 
therefore  gave  no  sign  of  life  on  this  occasion,  merely 
preserving  an  air  at  once  perfectly  noble  and  expres- 
sionless. 

Meanwhile,  Father  Lactantius,  having  had  a  mo- 
ment to  recover  from  the  sudden  attack  made  upon 
him,  turned  toward  the  president  and  said: 

"Here  is  a  clear  proof,  sent  us  by  Heaven,  of  the 
possession,  for  the  Superior  never  before  has  forgotten 
the  modesty  and  severity  of  her  order." 

"Would  that  all  the  world  were  here  to  see  me!" 
said  Jeanne  de  Belfiel,  firm  as  ever.  "I  can  not  be 
sufficiently  humiliated  upon  earth,  and  Heaven  will 
reject  me,  for  I  have  been  your  accomplice." 

Perspiration  appeared  upon  the  forehead  of  Lau- 
bardemont,  but  he  tried  to  recover  his  composure. 
"What  absurd  tale  is  this,  Sister;  what  has  influenced 
you  herein?" 

The  voice  of  the  girl  became  sepulchral;  she  col- 
lected all  her  strength,  pressed  her  hand  upon  her 
heart  as  if  she  desired  to  stay  its  throbbing,  and,  look- 
ing at  Urbain  Grandier,  answered,  "Love." 

A  shudder  ran  through  the  assembly.  Urbain,  who 
since  he  had  fainted  had  remained  with  his  head  hang- 
ing down  as  if  dead,  slowly  raised  his  eyes  toward 
her,  and  returned  entirely  to  life  only  to  undergo  a 
fresh  sorrow.  The  young  penitent  continued: 

"Yes,  the  love  which  he  rejected,  which  he  never 
fully  knew,  which  I  have  breathed  in  his  discourses, 
which  my  eyes  drew  in  from  his  celestial  countenance, 
which  his  very  counsels  against  it  have  increased. 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

Yes,  Urbain  is  pure  as  an  angel,  but  good  as  a  man 
who  has  loved.  I  knew  not  that  he  had  loved!  It 
is  you,"  she  said  more  energetically,  pointing  to  Lac- 
tantius,  Barre,  and  Mignon,  and  changing  he.  pas- 
sionate accents  for  those  of  indignation — "it  is  you 
who  told  me  that  he  loved;  you,  who  this  morning 
have  too  cruelly  avenged  me  by  killing  my  rival  with 
a  word.  Alas,  I  only  sought  to  separate  them!  It 
was  a  crime;  but,  by  my  mother,  I  am  an  Italian!  I 
burned  with  love,  with  jealousy;  you  allowed  me  to 
see  Urbain,  to  have  him  as  a  friend,  to  see  him  daily." 
She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  exclaimed,  "People, 
he  is  innocent!  Martyr,  pardon  me,  I  embrace  thy 
feet!" 

She  prostrated  herself  before  Urbain  and  burst  into 
a  torrent  of  tears. 

Urbain  raised  his  closely  bound  hands,  and  giving 
her  his  benediction,  said,  gently: 

"Go,  Sister;  I  pardon  thee  in  the  name  of  Him 
whom  I  shall  soon  see.  I  have  before  said  to  you, 
and  you  now  see,  that  the  passions  work  much  evil, 
unless  we  seek  to  turn  them  toward  heaven." 

The  blood  rose  a  second  time  to  Laubardemont's 
forehead.  "Miscreant!"  he  exclaimed,  "darest  thou 
pronounce  the  words  of  the  Church?" 

"I  have  not  quitted  her  bosom,"  said  Urbain. 

"Remove  the  girl,"  said  the  President. 

When  the  archers  went  to  obey,  they  found  that  she 

had   tightened  the  cord   round  her  neck  with  such 

force  that  she  was  of  a  livid  hue  and  almost  lifeless. 

Fear  had  driven  all  the  women  from  the  assembly; 

[72] 


CINQ-MARS 

many  had  been  carried  out  fainting,  but  the  hall  was 
no  less  crowded.  The  ranks  thickened,  for  the  men 
out  of  the  streets  poured  in. 

The  judges  arose  in  terror,  and  the  president  at- 
tempted to  have  the  hall  cleared;  but  the  people,  put- 
ting on  their  hats,  stood  in  alarming  immobility.  The 
archers  were  not  numerous  enough  to  repel  them. 
It  became  necessary  to  yield;  and  accordingly  Lau- 
bardemont  in  an  agitated  voice  announced  that  the 
council  would  retire  for  half  an  hour.  He  broke  up 
the  sitting;  the  people  remained  gloomily,  each  man 
fixed  firmly  to  his  place. 


[73] 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  MARTYRDOM 

La  torture  interroge,  et  la  douleur  repond. 

RAYNOUARD,  Les  Templiers. 

•HE  continuous  interest  of  this  half- 
trial,  its  preparations,  its  interrup- 
tions, all  had  held  the  minds  of  the 
people  in  such  attention  that  no  pri- 
vate conversations  had  taken  place. 
Some  irrepressible  cries  had  been  ut- 
tered, but  simultaneously,  so  that  no 
man  could  accuse  his  neighbor.  But 
when  the  people  were  left  to  themselves,  there  was  an 
explosion  of  clamorous  sentences. 

There  was  at  this  period  enough  of  primitive  sim- 
plicity among  the  lower  classes  for  them  to  be  per- 
suaded by  the  mysterious  tales  of  the  political  agents 
who  were  deluding  them;  so  that  a  large  portion  of 
the  throng  in  the  hall  of  trial,  not  venturing  to  change 
their  judgment,  though  upon  the  manifest  evidence 
just  given  them,  awaited  in  painful  suspense  the  re- 
turn of  the  judges,  interchanging  with  an  air  of  mystery 
and  inane  importance  the  usual  remarks  prompted  by 
imbecility  on  such  occasions. 

"One  does  not  know  what  to  think,  Monsieur?" 
"  Truly,  Madame,  most  extraordinary  things  have 
happened." 

[74] 


CINQ-MARS 

"We  live  in  strange  times!" 

"I  suspected  this;  but,  i'  faith,  it  is  not  wise  to 
say  what  one  thinks/' 

"We  shall  see  what  we  shall  see,"  and  so  on — 
the  unmeaning  chatter  of  the  crowd,  which  merely 
serves  to  show  that  it  is  at  the  command  of  the  first 
who  chooses  to  sway  it.  Stronger  words  were  heard 
from  the  group  in  black. 

"What!  shall  we  let  them  do  as  they  please,  in 
this  manner?  What!  dare  to  burn  our  letter  to 
the  King!" 

"If  the  King  knew  it!" 

"The  barbarian  impostors!  how  skilfully  is  their 
plot  contrived!  What!  shall  murder  be  committed 
under  our  very  eyes?  Shall  we  be  afraid  of  these 
archers?" 

"No,  no,  no!"  rang  out  in  trumpet-like  tones. 

Attention  was  turned  toward  the  young  advocate, 
who,  standing  on  a  branch,  began  tearing  to  pieces 
a  roll  of  paper;  then  he  cried: 

"Yes,  I  tear  and  scatter  to  the  winds  the  defence  I 
had  prepared  for  the  accused.  They  have  suppressed 
discussion;  I  am  not  allowed  to  speak  for  him.  I 
can  only  speak  to  you,  people;  I  rejoice  that  I  can 
do  so.  You  heard  these  infamous  judges.  Which  of 
them  can  hear  the  truth?  Which  of  them  is  worthy 
to  listen  to  an  honest  man  ?  Which  of  them  will  dare 
to  meet  his  gaze?  But  what  do  I  say?  They  all 
know  the  truth.  They  carry  it  in  their  guilty  breasts; 
it  stings  their  hearts  like  a  serpent.  They  tremble 
in  their  lair,  where  doubtless  they  are  devouring  their 
[75] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

victim;  they  tremble  because  they  have  heard  the 
cries  of  three  deluded  women.  What  was  I  about  to 
do  ?  I  was  about  to  speak  in  behalf  of  Ur »jain  Gran- 
dier!  But  what  eloquence  could  equal  that  of  those 
unfortunates?  What  words  could  better  have  shown 
you  his  innocence?  Heaven  has  taken  up  arms  for 
him  in  bringing  them  to  repentance  and  to  devotion; 
Heaven  will  finish  its  work — 

"Vade  retro,  Satanas,"  was  heard  through  a  high 
window  in  the  hall. 

Fournier  stopped  for  a  moment,  then  said: 

"You  hear  these  voices  parodying  the  divine  lan- 
guage? If  I  mistake  not,  these  instruments  of  an 
infernal  power  are,  by  this  song,  preparing  some  new 
spell." 

"But,"  cried  those  who  surrounded  him,  "what 
shall  we  do?  What  have  they  done  with  him?" 

"Remain  here;  be  immovable,  be  silent,"  replied 
the  young  advocate.  "The  inertia  of  a  people  is  all- 
powerful;  that  is  its  <rue  wisdom,  that  its  strength. 
Observe  them  closely,  and  in  silence;  and  you  will 
make  them  tremble." 

"They  surely  will  not  dare  to  appear  here  again," 
said  the  Comte  du  Lude. 

"I  should  like  to  look  once  more  at  the  tall  scoun- 
drel in  red,"  said  Grand-Ferre,  who  had  lost  nothing 
of  what  had  occurred. 

"And  that  good  gentleman,  the  Cure,"  murmured 
old  Father  Guillaume  Leroux,  looking  at  all  his  in- 
dignant parishioners,  who  were  talking  together  in  a 
low  tone,  measuring  and  counting  the  archers,  ridi- 
[76] 


CINQ-MARS 

culing  their  dress,  and  beginning  to  point  them  out  to 
the  observation  of  the  other  spectators. 

Cinq-Mars,  still  leaning  against  the  pillar  behind 
which  he  had  first  placed  himself,  still  wrapped  in  his 
black  cloak,  eagerly  watched  all  that  passed,  lost  not 
a  word  of  what  was  said,  and  filled  his  heart  with  hate 
and  bitterness.  Violent  desires  for  slaughter  and  re- 
venge, a  vague  desire  to  strike,  took  possession  of 
him,  despite  himself;  this  is  the  first  impression  which 
evil  produces  on  the  soul  of  a  young  man.  Later,  sad- 
ness takes  the  place  of  fury,  then  indifference  and 
scorn,  later  still,  a  calculating  admiration  for  great 
villains  who  have  been  successful;  but  this  is  only 
when,  of  the  two  elements  which  constitute  man,  earth 
triumphs  over  spirit. 

Meanwhile,  on  the  right  of  the  hall  near  the  judges' 
platform,  a  group  of  women  were  watching  attentively 
a  child  about  eight  years  old,  who  had  taken  it  into 
his  head  to  climb  up  to  a  cornice  by  the  aid  of  his 
sister  Martine,  whom  we  have  seen  the  subject  of 
jest  with  the  young  soldier,  Grand-Ferre.  The  child, 
having  nothing  to  look  at  after  the  court  had  left  the 
hall,  had  climbed  to  a  small  window  which  admitted 
a  faint  light,  and  which  he  imagined  to  contain  a  swal- 
low's nest  or  some  other  treasure  for  a  ]x>y;  but  after 
he  was  well  established  on  the  cornice,  his  hands  grasp- 
ing the  bars  of  an  old  shrine  of  Jerome,  he  wished 
himself  anywhere  else,  and  cried  out: 

"Oh,  sister,  sister,  lend  me  your  hand  to  get 
down!" 

"What  do  you  see  there?"  asked  Martine. 
[77] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"Oh,  I  dare  not  tell;  but  I  want  target  down,"  and 
he  began  to  cry. 

"Stay  there,  my  child;  stay  there!"  said  all  the 
women.  "Don't  be  afraid;  tell  us  all  that  you  see." 

"Well,  then,  they've  put  the  Cure  between  two  great 
boards  that  squeeze  his  legs,  and  there  are  cords  round 
the  boards." 

"Ah!  that  is  the  rack,"  said  one  of  the  townsmen. 
"Look  again,  my  little  friend,  what  do  you  see  now?" 

The  child,  more  confident,  looked  again  through  the 
window,  and  then,  withdrawing  his  head,  said: 

"I  can  not  see  the  Cure  now,  because  all  the  judges 
stand  round  him,  and  are  looking  at  him,  and  their 
great  robes  prevent  me  from  seeing.  There  are  also 
some  Capuchins,  stooping  down  to  whisper  to  him." 

Curiosity  attracted  more  people  to  the  boy's  perch; 
every  one  was  silent,  waiting  anxiously  to  catch  his 
words,  as  if  their  lives  depended  on  them. 

"I  see,"  he  went  on,  "the  executioner  driving  four 
little  pieces  of  wood  between  the  cords,  after  the 
Capuchins  have  blessed  the  hammer  and  nails.  Ah, 
heavens!  Sister,  how  enraged  they  seem  with  him, 
because  he  will  not  speak.  Mother!  mother!  give  me 
your  hand,  I  want  to  come  down!" 

Instead  of  his  mother,  the  child,  upon  turning  round, 
saw  only  men's  faces,  looking  up  at  him  with  a  mourn- 
ful eagerness,  and  signing  him  to  go  on.  He  dared 
not  descend,  and  looked  again  through  the  window, 
trembling. 

"Oh!  I  see  Father  Lactantius  and  Father  Barre 
themselves  forcing  in  more  pieces  of  wood,  which 
[78] 


CINQ-MARS 

squeeze  his  legs.  Oh,  how  pale  he  is!  he  seems  pray- 
ing. There,  his  head  falls  back,  as  if  he  were  dying! 
Oh,  take  me  away!" 

And  he  fell  into  the  arms  of  the  young  Advocate, 
of  M.  du  Lude,  and  of  Cinq-Mars,  who  had  come  to 
support  him. 

"Deus  stetit  in  synagoga  deorum:  in  medio  autem 
Deus  dijudicat —  '  chanted  strong,  nasal  voices,  is- 
suing from  the  small  window,  which  continued  in  full 
chorus  one  of  the  psalms,  interrupted  by  blows  of 
the  hammer — an  infernal  deed  beating  time  to  ce- 
lestial songs.  One  might  have  supposed  himself  near 
a  smithy,  except  that  the  blows  were  dull,  and  mani- 
fested to  the  ear  that  the  anvil  was  a  man's  body. 

"Silence!"  said  Fournier,  "He  speaks.  The  chant- 
ing and  the  blows  stop." 

A  weak  voice  within  said,  with  difficulty,  "Oh,  my 
fathers,  mitigate  the  rigor  of  your  torments,  for  you 
will  reduce  my  soul  to  despair,  and  I  might  seek  to 
destroy  myself!" 

At  this  the  fury  of  the  people  burst  forth  like  an 
explosion,  echoing  along  the  vaulted  roofs;  the  men 
sprang  fiercely  upon  the  platform,  thrust  aside  the 
surprised  and  hesitating  archers;  the  unarmed  crowd 
drove  them  back,  pressed  them,  almost  suffocated 
them  against  the  walls,  and  held  them  fast,  then 
dashed  against  the  doors  which  led  to  the  torture 
chamber,  and,  making  them  shake  beneath  their 
blows,  threatened  to  drive  them  in;  imprecations  re- 
sounded from  a  thousand  menacing  voices  and  ter- 
rified the  judges  within. 

[79] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"They  are  gone;  they  have  taken  him  away! "cried 
a  man  who  had  climbed  to  the  little  window. 

The  multitude  at  once  stopped  short,  and  changing 
the  direction  of  their  steps,  fled  from  this  detestable 
place  and  spread  rapidly  through  the  streets,  where 
an  extraordinary  confusion  prevailed. 

Night  had  come  on  during  the  long  sitting,  and  the 
rain  was  pouring  in  torrents.  The  darkness  was  ter- 
rifying. The  cries  of  women  slipping  on  the  pave- 
ment or  driven  back  by  the  horses  of  the  guards;  the 
shouts  of  the  furious  men;  the  ceaseless  tolling  of  the 
bells  which  had  been  keeping  time  with  the  strokes 
of  the  question;  the  roll  of  distant  thunder — all  com- 
bined to  increase  the  disorder.  If  the  ear  was  as- 
tonished, the  eyes  were  no  less  so.  A  few  dismal 
torches  lighted  up  the  corners  of  the  streets;  their 
flickering  gleams  showed  soldiers,  armed  and  mounted, 
dashing  along,  regardless  of  the  crowd,  to  assemble 
in  the  Place  de  St. -Pierre;  tiles  were  sometimes  thrown 
at  them  on  their  way,  but,  missing  the  distant  culprit, 
fell  upon  some  unoffending  neighbor.  The  confusion 
was  bewildering,  and  became  still  more  so,  when, 
hurrying  through  all  the  streets  toward  the  Place  de 
St.-Pierre,  the  people  found  it  barricaded  on  all  sides, 
and  rilled  with  mounted  guards  and  archers.  Carts, 
fastened  to  the  posts  at  each  corner,  closed  each  en- 
trance, and  sentinels,  armed  with  arquebuses,  were 
stationed  close  to  the  carts.  In  the  centre  of  the  Place 
rose  a  pile  composed  of  enormous  beams  placed  cross- 
wise upon  one  another,  so  as  to  form  a  perfect  square ; 
these  were  covered  with  a  whiter  and  lighter  wood; 
[80] 


CINQ-MARS 

an  enormous  stake  arose  from  the  centre  of  the  scaf- 
fold. A  man  clothed  in  red  and  holding  a  lowered 
torch  stood  near  this  sort  of  mast,  which  was  visible 
from  a  long  distance.  A  huge  chafing-dish,  covered 
on  account  of  the  rain,  was  at  his  feet. 

At  this  spectacle,  terror  inspired  everywhere  a  pro- 
found silence;  for  an  instant  nothing  was  heard  but 
the  sound  of  the  rain,  which  fell  in  floods,  and  of  the 
thunder,  which  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

Meanwhile,  Cinq-Mars,  accompanied  by  MM.  du 
Lude  and  Fournier  and  all  the  more  important  per- 
sonages of  the  town,  had  sought  refuge  from  the  storm 
under  the  peristyle  of  the  church  of  Ste.-Croix,  raised 
upon  twenty  stone  steps.  The  pile  was  in  front,  and 
from  this  height  they  could  see  the  whole  of  the  square. 
The  centre  was  entirely  clear,  large  streams  of  water 
alone  traversed  it;  but  all  the  windows  of  the  houses 
were  gradually  lighted  up,  and  showed  the  heads  of 
the  men  and  women  who  thronged  them. 

The  young  D'Effiat  sorrowfully  contemplated  this 
menacing  preparation.  Brought  up  in  sentiments  of 
honor,  and  far  removed  from  the  black  thoughts  which 
hatred  and  ambition  arouse  in  the  heart  of  man,  he 
could  not  conceive  that  such  wrong  could  be  done 
without  some  powerful  and  secret  motive.  The  au- 
dacity of  such  a  condemnation  seemed  to  him  so 
enormous  that  its  very  cruelty  began  to  justify  it  in 
his  eyes;  a  secret  horror  crept  into  his  soul,  the  same 
that  silenced  the  people.  He  almost  forgot  the  inter- 
est with  which  the  unhappy  Urbain  had  inspired  him, 
in  thinking  whether  it  were  not  possible  that  some 
6  [81] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

secret  correspondence  with  the  infernal  powers  had 
justly  provoked  such  excessive  severity;  and  the  pub- 
lic revelations  of  the  nuns,  and  the  statement  of  his 
respected  tutor,  faded  from  his  memory,  so  powerful 
is  success,  even  in  the  eyes  of  superior  men !  so  strongly 
does  force  impose  upon  men,  despite  the  voice  of  con- 
science ! 

The  young  traveller  was  asking  himself  whether  it 
were  not  probable  that  the  torture  had  forced  some 
monstrous  confession  from  the  accused,  when  the  ob- 
scurity which  surrounded  the  church  suddenly  ceased. 
Its  two  great  doors  were  thrown  open;  and  by  the 
light  of  an  infinite  number  of  flambeaux,  appeared  all  the 
judges  and  ecclesiastics,  surrounded  by  guards.  Among 
them  was  Urbain,  supported,  or  rather  carried,  by 
six  men  clothed  as  Black  Penitents — for  his  limbs, 
bound  with  bandages  saturated  with  blood,  seemed 
broken  and  incapable  of  supporting  him.  It  was  at 
most  two  hours  since  Cinq-Mars  had  seen  him,  and 
yet  he  could  hardly  recognize  the  face  he  had  so 
closely  observed  at  the  trial.  All  color,  all  roundness 
of  form  had  disappeared  from  it;  a  livid  pallor  cov- 
ered a  skin  yellow  and  shining  like  ivory;  the  blood 
seemed  to  have  left  his  veins;  all  the  life  that  remained 
within  him  shone  from  his  dark  eyes,  which  appeared 
to  have  grown  twice  as  large  as  before,  as  he  looked 
languidly  around  him;  his  long,  chestnut  hair  hung 
loosely  down  his  neck  and  over  a  white  shirt,  which 
entirely  covered  him — or  rather  a  sort  of  robe  with 
large  sleeves,  and  of  a  yellowish  tint,  with  an  odor 
of  sulphur  about  it;  a  long,  thick  cord  encircled  his 
[82] 


CINQ-MARS 

neck  and  fell  upon  his  breast.    He  looked  like  an 
apparition;  but  it  was  the  apparition  of  a  martyr. 

Urbain  stopped,  or,  rather,  was  set  down  upon  the 
peristyle  of  the  church;  the  Capuchin  Lactantius 
placed  a  lighted  torch  in  his  right  hand,  and  held  it 
there,  as  he  said  to  him,  with  his  hard  inflexibility : 

"  Do  penance,  and  ask  pardon  of  God  for  thy  crime 
of  magic." 

The  unhappy  man  raised  his  voice  with  great  dif- 
ficulty, and  with  his  eyes  to  heaven  said: 

"In  the  name  of  the  living  God,  I  cite  thee,  Lau- 
bardemont,  false  judge,  to  appear  before  Him  in  three 
years.  They  have  taken  away  my  confessor,  and  I 
have  been  fain  to  pour  out  my  sins  into  the  bosom  of 
God  Himself,  for  my  enemies  surround  me.  I  call 
that  God  of  mercy  to  witness  I  never  have  dealt  in 
magic.  I  have  known  no  mysteries  but  those  of  the 
Catholic  religion,  apostolic  and  Roman,  in  which  I 
die;  I  have  sinned  much  against  myself,  but  never 
against  God  and  our  Lord 

"Cease!"  cried  the  Capuchin,  affecting  to  close 
his  mouth  ere  he  could  pronounce  the  name  of  the 
Saviour.  "Obdurate  wretch,  return  to  the  demon 
who  sent  thee!" 

He  signed  to  four  priests,  who,  approaching  with 
sprinklers  in  their  hands,  exorcised  with  holy  water 
the  air  the  magician  breathed,  the  earth  he  touched, 
the  wood  that  was  to  burn  him.  During  this  cere- 
mony, the  Judge-Advocate  hastily  read  the  decree, 
dated  the  i8th  of  August,  1639,  declaring  Urbain  Gran- 
dier  duly  attainted  and  convicted  of  the  crime  oj  sor- 
[83] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

eery,  witchcraft,  and  possession,  in  the  persons  of  sundry 
Ursuline  nuns  of  Loudun,  and  others,  laymen,  etc. 

The  reader,  dazzled  by  a  flash  of  lightning,  stopped 
for  an  instant,  and,  turning  to  M.  de  Laubardemont, 
asked  whether,  considering  the  awful  weather,  the  ex- 
ecution could  not  be  deferred  till  the  next  day. 

"The  decree,"  coldly  answered  Laubardemcnt, 
"commands  execution  within  twenty-four  hours.  Fear 
not  the  incredulous  people;  they  will  soon  be  con- 
vinced." 

All  the  most  important  persons  of  the  town  and 
many  strangers  were  under  the  peristyle,  and  now 
advanced,  Cinq-Mars  among  them. 

"The  magician  never  has  been  able  to  pronounce 
the  name  of  the  Saviour,  and  repels  his  image." 

Lactantius  at  this  moment  issued  from  the  midst  of 
the  Penitents,  with  an  enormous  iron  crucifix  in  his 
hand,  which  he  seemed  to  hold  with  precaution  and 
respect;  he  extended  it  to  the  lips  of  the  sufferer, 
who  indeed  threw  back  his  head,  and  collecting  all 
his  strength,  made  a  gesture  with  his  arm,  which 
threw  the  cross  from  the  hands  of  the  Capuchin. 

"You  see,"  cried  the  latter,  "he  has  thrown  down 
the  cross!" 

A  murmur  arose,  the  meaning  of  which  was  doubtful. 

"Profanation!"  cried  the  priests. 

The  procession  moved  toward  the  pile. 

Meanwhile,  Cinq-Mars,  gliding  behind  a  pillar,  had 
eagerly  watched  all  that  passed;  he  saw  with  aston- 
ishment that  the  cross,  in  falling  upon  the  steps,  which 
were  more  exposed  to  the  rain  than  the  platform, 
[84] 


CINQ-MARS 

smoked  and  made  a  noise  like  molten  lead  when 
thrown  into  water.  While  the  public  attention  was 
elsewhere  engaged,  he  advanced  and  touched  it  lightly 
with  his  bare  hand,  which  was  immediately  scorched. 
Seized  with  indignation,  with  all  the  fury  of  a  true 
heart,  he  took  up  the  cross  with  the  folds  of  his  cloak, 
stepped  up  to  Laubardemont,  and,  striking  him  with 
it  on  the  forehead,  cried: 

"Villain,  I  brand  thee  with  the  mark  of  this  red- 
hot  iron!" 

The  crowd  heard  these  words  and  rushed  forward. 

"Arrest  this  madman!"  cried  the  unworthy  magis- 
trate. 

He  was  himself  seized  by  the  hands  of  men  who 
cried : 

"Justice!  justice,  in  the  name  of  the  King!" 

"We  are  lost!"  said  Lactantius;  "to  the  pile,  to 
the  pile!" 

The  Penitents  dragged  Urbain  toward  the  Place, 
while  the  judges  and  archers  reentered  the  church, 
struggling  with  the  furious  citizens;  the  executioner, 
having  no  time  to  tie  up  the  victim,  hastened  to  lay 
him  on  the  wood,  and  to  set  fire  to  it.  But  the  rain 
still  fell  in  torrents,  and  each  piece  of  wood  had  no 
sooner  caught  the  flame  than  it  became  extinguished. 
In  vain  did  Lactantius  and  the  other  canons  them- 
selves seek  to  stir  up  the  fire;  nothing  could  overcome 
the  water  which  fell  from  heaven. 

Meanwhile,  the  tumult  which  had  begun  in  the 
peristyle  of  the  church  extended  throughout  the  square. 
The  cry  of  "Justice!"  was  repeated  and  circulated, 
[85] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

with  the  information  of  what  had  been  discovered; 
two  barricades  were  forced,  and  despite  three  volleys 
of  musketry,  the  archers  were  gradually  driven  back 
toward  the  centre  of  the  square.  In  vain  they  spurred 
their  horses  against  the  crowd;  it  overwhelmed  them 
with  its  swelling  waves.  Half  an  hour  passed  in  this 
struggle,  the  guards  still  receding  toward  the  pile, 
which  they  concealed  as  they  pressed  closer  upon  it. 

"On!  on!"  cried  a  man;  "we  will  deliver  him;  do 
not  strike  the  soldiers,  but  let  them  fall  back.  See, 
Heaven  will  not  permit  him  to  die!  The  fire  is  out; 
now,  friend,  one  effort  more!  That  is  well!  Throw 
down  that  horse!  Forward!  On!" 

The  guard  was  broken  and  dispersed  on  all  sides. 
The  crowd  rushed  to  the  pile,  but  no  more  light  was 
there:  all  had  disappeared,  even  the  executioner. 
They  tore  up  and  threw  aside  the  beams;  one  of 
them  was  still  burning,  and  its  light  showed  under  a 
mass  of  ashes  and  ensanguined  mire  a  blackened  hand, 
preserved  from  the  fire  by  a  large  iron  bracelet  and 
chain.  A  woman  had  the  courage  to  open  it;  the 
fingers  clasped  a  small  ivory  cross  and  an  image  of 
St.  Magdalen. 

"These  are  his  remains,"  she  said,  weeping. 

"Say,  the  relics  of  a  martyr!"  exclaimed  a  citizen, 
baring  his  head. 


[86] 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  DREAM 

Les  vergers  languissants  alteres  de  chaleurs, 
Balancent  des  rameaux  depourvus  de  feuillages; 
II  semble  que  1'hiver  ne  quitte  pas  les  cieux. 

Maria,  JULES  LEFEVRE. 

>EANWHILE,  Cinq-Mars,  amid  the 
excitement  which  his  outbreak  had 
provoked,  felt  his  left  arm  seized  by 
a  hand  as  hard  as  iron,  which,  draw- 
ing him  from  the  crowd  to  the  foot 
of  the  steps,  pushed  him  behind  the 
wall  of  the  church,  and  he  then  saw 
the  dark  face  of  old  Grandchamp, 
who  said  to  him  in  a  sharp  voice: 

"Sir,  your  attack  upon  thirty  musketeers  in  a  wood 
at  Chaumont  was  nothing,  because  we  were  near  you, 
though  you  knew  it  not,  and,  moreover,  you  had  to 
do  with  men  of  honor;  but  here  'tis  different.  Your 
horses  and  people  are  at  the  end  of  the  street;  I  re- 
quest you  to  mount  and  leave  the  town,  or  to  send  me 
back  to  Madame  la  Marechale,  for  I  am  responsible 
for  your  limbs,  which  you  expose  so  freely." 

Cinq- Mars  was  somewhat  astonished  at  this  rough 
mode  of  having  a  service  done  him,  was  not  sorry 
to  extricate  himself  thus  from  the  affair,  having  had 
[87] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

time  to  reflect  how  very  awkward  it  might  be  for  him 
to  be  recognized,  after  striking  the  head  of  the  ju- 
dicial authority,  the  agent  of  the  very  Cardinal  who 
was  to  present  him  to  the  King.  He  observed  also 
that  around  him  was  assembled  a  crowd  of  the  low- 
est class  of  people,  among  whom  he  blushed  to  find 
himself.  He  therefore  followed  his  old  domestic  with- 
out argument,  and  found  the  other  three  servants  wait- 
ing for  him.  Despite  the  rain  and  wind  he  mount- 
ed, and  was  soon  upon  the  highroad  with  his  escort, 
having  put  his  horse  to  a  gallop  to  avoid  pursuit. 

He  had,  however,  hardly  left  Loudun  when  the 
sandy  road,  furrowed  by  deep  ruts  completely  filled 
with  water,  obliged  him  to  slacken  his  pace.  The 
rain  continued  to  fall  heavily,  and  his  cloak  was  al- 
most saturated.  He  felt  a  thicker  one  thrown  over 
his  shoulders;  it  was  his  old  valet,  who  had  approached 
him,  and  thus  exhibited  toward  him  a  maternal  so- 
licitude. 

"Well,  Grandchamp,"  said  Cinq-Mars,  "now  that 
we  are  clear  of  the  riot,  tell  me  how  you  came  to  be 
there  when  I  had  ordered  you  to  remain  at  the  Abbe's. " 

"Parbleu,  Monsieur!"  answered  the  old  servant,  in 
a  grumbling  tone,  "do  you  suppose  that  I  should 
obey  you  any  more  than  I  did  Monsieur  le  Marechal  ? 
When  my  late  master,  after  telling  me  to  remain  in 
his  tent,  found  me  behind  him  in  the  cannon's  smoke, 
he  made  no  complaint,  because  he  had  a  fresh  horse 
ready  when  his  own  was  killed,  and  he  only  scolded 
me  for  a  moment  in  his  thoughts;  but,  truly,  during 
the  forty  years  I  served  him,  I  never  saw  him  act  as 
[88] 


CINQ-MARS 

you  have  in  the  fortnight  I  have  been  with  you.  Ah!" 
he  added  with  a  sigh,  " things  are  going  strangely; 
and  if  we  continue  thus,  there's  no  knowing  what  will 
be  the  end  of  it." 

"But  knowest  thou,  Grandchamp,  that  these  scoun- 
drels had  made  the  crucifix  red  hot  ? — a  thing  at  which 
no  honest  man  would  have  been  less  enraged  than  I." 

"Except  Monsieur  le  Marechal,  your  father,  who 
would  not  have  done  at  all  what  you  have  done, 
Monsieur." 

"What,  then,  would  he  have  done?" 

"He  would  very  quietly  have  let  this  cure  be  burned 
by  the  other  cures,  and  would  have  said  to  me,  '  Grand- 
champ,  see  that  my  horses  have  oats,  and  let  no  one 
steal  them';  or,  'Grandchamp,  take  care  that  the 
rain  does  not  rust  my  sword  or  wet  the  priming  of 
my  pistols';  for  Monsieur  le  Marechal  thought  of 
everything,  and  never  interfered  in  what  did  not  con- 
cern him.  That  was  his  great  principle;  and  as  he 
was,  thank  Heaven,  alike  good  soldier  and  good  gen- 
eral, he  was  always  as  careful  of  his  arms  as  a  recruit, 
and  would  not  have  stood  up  against  thirty  young 
gallants  with  a  dress  rapier." 

Cinq- Mars  felt  the  force  of  the  worthy  servitor's 
epigrammatic  scolding,  and  feared  that  he  had  fol- 
lowed him  beyond  the  wood  of  Chaumont;  but  he 
would  not  ask,  lest  he  should  have  to  give  explanations 
or  to  tell  a  falsehood  or  to  command  silence,  which 
would  at  once  have  been  taking  him  into  confidence 
on  the  subject.  As  the  only  alternative,  he  spurred 
his  horse  and  rode  ahead  of  his  old  domestic;  but  the 
[89] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

latter  had  not  yet  had  his  say,  and  instead  of  keeping 
behind  his  master,  he  rode  up  to  his  left  and  con- 
tinued the  conversation. 

"  Do  you  suppose,  Monsieur,  that  I  should  allow  you 
to  go  where  you  please?  No,  Monsieur,  I  am  too 
deeply  impressed  with  the  respect  I  owe  to  Madame 
la  Marquise,  to  give  her  an  opportunity  of  saying  to 
me:  'Grandchamp,  my  son  has  been  killed  with  a 
shot  or  with  a  sword;  why  were  you  not  before  him?' 
Or,  'He  has  received  a  stab  from  the  stiletto  of  an 
Italian,  because  he  went  at  night  beneath  the  win- 
dow of  a  great  princess;  why  did  you  not  seize  the 
assassin  ? '  This  would  be  very  disagreeable  to  me, 
Monsieur,  for  I  never  have  been  reproached  with 
anything  of  the  kind.  Once  Monsieur  le  Marechal 
lent  me  to  his  nephew,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  to  make  a 
campaign  in  the  Netherlands,  because  I  know  Spanish. 
I  fulfilled  the  duty  with  honor,  as  I  always  do.  When 
Monsieur  le  Comte  received  a  bullet  in  his  heart,  I 
myself  brought  back  his  horses,  his  mules,  his  tent, 
and  all  his  equipment,  without  so  much  as  a  pocket- 
handkerchief  being  missed;  and  I  can  assure  you 
that  the  horses  were  as  well  dressed  and  harnessed 
when  we  reentered  Chaumont  as  if  Monsieur  le  Comte 
had  been  about  to  go  a-hunting.  And,  accordingly, 
I  received  nothing  but  compliments  and  agreeable 
things  from  the  whole  family,  just  in  the  way  I  like." 

"Well,  well,  my  friend,"  said  Henri  d'Effiat,  "I  may 

some  day,  perhaps,  have  these  horses  to  take  back; 

but  in  the  mean  time  take  this  great  purse  of  gold, 

which  I  have  well-nigh  lost  two  or  three  times,  and 

[90! 


CINQ-MARS 

thou  shalt  pay  for  me  everywhere.  The  money 
wearies  me." 

"Monsieur  le  Marechal  did  not  so,  Monsieur.  He 
had  been  superintendent  of  finances,  and  he  counted 
every  farthing  he  paid  out  of  his  own  hand.  I  do  not 
think  your  estates  would  have  been  in  such  good  con- 
dition, or  that  you  would  have  had  so  much  money  to 
count  yourself,  had  he  done  otherwise;  have  the  good- 
ness, therefore,  to  keep  your  purse,  whose  contents, 
I  dare  swear,  you  do  not  know." 

"Faith,  not  I." 

Grandchamp  sent  forth  a  profound  sigh  at  his  mas- 
ter's disdainful  exclamation. 

"Ah,  Monsieur  le  Marquis!  Monsieur  le  Marquis! 
When  I  think  that  the  great  King  Henri,  before  my 
eyes,  put  his  chamois  gloves  into  his  pocket  to  keep 
the  rain  from  spoiling  them;  when  I  think  that  Mon- 
sieur de  Rosni  refused  him  money  when  he  had  spent 
too  much;  when  I  think — 

"When  thou  dost  think,  thou  art  egregiously  tedious, 
my  old  friend,"  interrupted  his  master;  "and  thou 
wilt  do  better  in  telling  me  what  that  black  figure  is 
that  I  think  I  see  walking  in  the  mire  behind  us." 

"It  looks  like  some  poor  peasant  woman  who,  per- 
haps, wants  alms  of  us.  She  can  easily  follow  us,  for 
we  do  not  go  at  much  of  a  pace  in  this  sand,  wherein 
our  horses  sink  up  to  the  hams.  We  shall  go  to  the 
Landes  perhaps  some  day,  Monsieur,  and  you  will 
see  a  country  all  the  same  as  this  sandy  road,  and 
great,  black  firs  all  the  way  along.  It  looks  like  a 
churchyard;  this  is  an  exact  specimen  of  it.  Look, 
[91] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

the  rain  has  ceased,  and  we  can  see  a  little  ahead; 
there  is  nothing  but  furze-bushes  on  this  great  plain, 
without  a  village  or  a  house.  I  don't  know  where 
we  can  pass  the  night ;  but  if  you  will  take  my  advice, 
you  will  let  us  cut  some  boughs  and  bivouac  where  we 
are.  You  shall  see  how,  with  a  little  earth,  I  can 
make  a  hut  as  warm  as  a  bed." 

"I  would  rather  go  on  to  the  light  I  see  in  the 
horizon,"  said  Cinq- Mars;  "for  I  fancy  I  feel  rather 
feverish,  and  I  am  thirsty.  But  fall  back,  I  would 
ride  alone;  rejoin  the  others  and  follow." 

Grandchamp  obeyed;  he  consoled  himself  by  giv- 
ing Germain,  Louis,  and  Etienne  lessons  in  the  art 
of  reconnoitring  a  country  by  night. 

Meanwhile,  his  young  master  was  overcome  with 
fatigue.  The  violent  emotions  of  the  day  had  pro- 
foundly affected  his  mind;  and  the  long  journey  on 
horseback,  the  last  two  days  passed  almost  without 
nourishment,  owing  to  the  hurried  pressure  of  events, 
the  heat  of  the  sun  by  day,  the  icy  coldness  of  the 
night,  all  contributed  to  increase  his  indisposition  and 
to  weary  his  delicate  frame.  For  three  hours  he  rode 
in  silence  before  his  people,  yet  the  light  he  had  seen 
in  the  horizon  seemed  no  nearer;  at  last  he  ceased 
to  follow  it  with  his  eyes,  and  his  head,  feeling  heavier 
and  heavier,  sank  upon  his  breast.  He  gave  the  reins 
to  his  tired  horse,  which  of  its  own  accord  followed 
the  high-road,  and,  crossing  his  arms,  allowed  himself 
to  be  rocked  by  the  monotonous  motion  of  his  fellow- 
traveller,  which  frequently  stumbled  against  the  large 
stones  that  strewed  the  road.  The  rain  had  ceased, 
[92] 


CINQ-MARS 

as  had  the  voices  of  his  domestics,  whose  horses  fol- 
lowed in  the  track  of  their  master's.  The  young  man 
abandoned  himself  to  the  bitterness  of  his  thoughts; 
he  asked  himself  whether  the  bright  object  of  his 
hopes  would  not  flee  from  him  day  by  day,  as  that 
phosphoric  light  fled  from  him  in  the  horizon,  step 
by  step.  Was  it  probable  that  the  young  Princess, 
almost  forcibly  recalled  to  the  gallant  court  of  Anne 
of  Austria,  would  always  refuse  the  hands,  perhaps 
royal  ones,  that  would  be  offered  to  her?  What 
chance  that  she  would  resign  herself  to  renounce  a 
present  throne,  in  order  to  wait  till  some  caprice  of 
fortune  should  realize  romantic  hopes,  or  take  a  youth 
almost  in  the  lowest  rank  of  the  army  and  lift  him  to 
the  elevation  she  spoke  of,  till  the  age  of  love  should 
be  passed?  How  could  he  be  certain  that  even  the 
vows  of  Marie  de  Gonzaga  were  sincere  ? 

"Alas!"  he  said,  "perhaps  she  has  blinded  herself 
as  to  her  own  sentiments;  the  solitude  of  the  country 
had  prepared  her  soul  to  receive  deep  impressions.  I 
came;  she  thought  I  was  he  of  whom  she  had  dreamed. 
Our  age  and  my  love  did  the  rest.  But  when  at 
court,  she,  the  companion  of  the  Queen,  has  learned 
to  contemplate  from  an  exalted  position  the  greatness 
to  which  I  aspire,  and  which  I  as  yet  see  only  from  a 
very  humble  distance;  when  she  shall  suddenly  find 
herself  in  actual  possession  of  the  future  she  aims  at, 
and  measures  with  a  more  correct  eye  the  long  road 
I  have  to  travel;  when  she  shall  hear  around  her 
vows  like  mine,  pronounced  by  lips  which  could  undo 
me  with  a  word,  with  a  word  destroy  him  whom  she 
[93] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

awaits  as  her  husband,  her  lord— oh,  madman  that  I 
have  been! — she  will  see  all  her  folly,  and  will  be 
incensed  at  mine." 

Thus  did  doubt,  the  greatest  misery  of  love,  begin 
to  torture  his  unhappy  heart;  he  felt  his  hot  blood  rush 
to  his  head  and  oppress  it.  Ever  and  anon  he  fell 
forward  upon  the  neck  of  his  horse,  and  a  half  sleep 
weighed  down  his  eyes;  the  dark  firs  that  bordered 
the  road  seemed  to  him  gigantic  corpses  travelling 
beside  him.  He  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  the  same 
woman  clothed  in  black,  whom  he  had  pointed  out 
to  Grandchamp,  approach  so  near  as  to  touch  his 
horse's  mane,  pull  his  cloak,  and  then  run  off  with  a 
jeering  laugh;  the  sand  of  the  road  seemed  to  him 
a  river  running  beneath  him,  with  opposing  current, 
back  toward  its  source.  This  strange  sight  dazzled 
his  worn  eyes;  he  closed  them  and  fell  asleep  on  his 
horse. 

Presently,  he  felt  himself  stopped,  but  he  was 
numbed  with  cold  and  could  not  move.  He  saw 
peasants,  lights,  a  house,  a  great  room  into  which 
they  carried  him,  a  wide  bed,  whose  heavy  curtains 
were  closed  by  Grandchamp;  and  he  fell  asleep  again, 
stunned  by  the  fever  that  whirred  in  his  ears. 

Dreams  that  followed  one  another  more  rapidly  than 
grains  of  sand  before  the  wind  rushed  through  his 
brain;  he  could  not  catch  them,  and  moved  restlessly 
on  his  bed.  Urbain  Grandier  on  the  rack,  his  mother 
in  tears,  his  tutor  armed,  Bassompierre  loaded  with 
chains,  passed  before  him,  making  signs  of  farewell; 
at  last,  as  he  slept,  he  instinctively  put  his  hand  to 
[94] 


CINQ-MARS 

his  head  to  stay  the  passing  dream,  which  then  seemed 
to  unfold  itself  Wore  his  eyes  like  pictures  in  shifting 
sands. 

He  saw  a  public  square  crowded  with  a  foreign 
people,  a  northern  people,  who  uttered  cries  of  joy, 
but  they  were  savage  cries;  there  was  a  line  of  guards, 
ferocious  soldiers — these  were  Frenchmen.  "Come 
with  me,"  said  the  soft  voice  of  Marie  de  Gonzaga, 
who  took  his  hand.  "See,  I  wear  a  diadem;  here  is 
thy  throne,  come  with  me."  And  she  hurried  him 
on,  the  people  still  shouting.  He  went  on,  a  long  way. 
"Why  are  you  sad,  if  you  are  a  queen?"  he  said, 
trembling.  But  she  was  pale,  and  smiled  and  spoke 
not.  She  ascended,  step  after  step,  up  to  a  throne, 
and  seated  herself.  "Mount!"  said  she,  forcibly  pull- 
ing his  hand.  But,  at  every  movement,  the  massive 
stairs  crumbled  beneath  his  feet,  so  that  he  could  not 
ascend.  "Give  thanks  to  love,"  she  continued;  and 
her  hand,  now  more  powerful,  raised  him  to  the 
throne.  The  people  still  shouted.  He  bowed  low  to 
kiss  that  helping  hand,  that  adored  hand;  it  was  the 
hand  of  the  executioner! 

"Oh,  heavens!"  exclaimed  Cinq-Mars,  as,  heaving 
a  deep  sigh,  he  opened  his  eyes.  A  flickering  lamp 
lighted  the  ruinous  chamber  of  the  inn;  he  again 
closed  his  eyes,  for  he  had  seen,  seated  on  his  bed,  a 
woman,  a  nun,  young  and  beautiful!  He  thought  he 
was  still  dreaming,  but  she  grasped  his  hand  firmly. 
He  opened  his  burning  eyes,  and  fixed  them  upon 
her. 

"Is  it  you,  Jeanne  de  Belfiel?  The  rain  has 
[95] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

drenched  your  veil  and  your  black  hair!    Why  are 
you  here,  unhappy  woman?" 

"Hark!  awake  not  my  Urbain;  he  sleeps  there  in 
the  next  room.  Ay,  my  hair  is  indeed  wet,  and  my 
feet — see,  my  feet  that  were  once  so  white,  see  how 
the  mud  has  soiled  them.  But  I  have  made  a  vow 
— I  will  not  wash  them  till  I  have  seen  the  King,  and 
until  he  has  granted  me  Urbain's  pardon.  I  am  go- 
ing to  the  army  to  find  him;  I  will  speak  to  him  as 
Grandier  taught  me  to  speak,  and  he  will  pardon 
him.  And  listen,  I  will  also  ask  thy  pardon,  for  I 
read  it  in  thy  face  that  thou,  too,  art  condemned  to 
death.  Poor  youth!  thou  art  too  young  to  die,  thy 
curling  hair  is  beautiful;  but  yet  thou  art  condemned, 
for  thou  hast  on  thy  brow  a  line  that  never  deceives. 
The  man  thou  hast  struck  will  kill  thee.  Thou  hast 
made  too  much  use  of  the  cross;  it  is  that  which  will 
bring  evil  upon  thee.  Thou  hast  struck  with  it,  and 
thou  wearest  it  round  thy  neck  by  a  hair  chain.  Nay, 
hide  not  thy  face;  have  I  said  aught  to  afflict  thee, 
or  is  it  that  thou  lovest,  young  man?  Ah,  reassure 
thyself,  I  will  not  tell  all  this  to  thy  love.  I  am  mad, 
but  I  am  gentle,  very  gentle ;  and  three  days  ago  I  was 
beautiful.  Is  she  also  beautiful?  Ah!  she  will  weep 
some  day!  Yet,  if  she  can  weep,  she  will  be  happy!" 

And  then  suddenly  Jeanne  began  to  recite  the  ser- 
vice for  the  dead  in  a  monotonous  voice,  but  with 
incredible  rapidity,  still  seated  on  the  bed,  and  turning 
the  beads  of  a  long  rosary. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened;   she  looked  up,  and  fled 
through  another  door  in  the  partition. 
[96] 


CINQ-MARS 

"What  the  devil's  that — an  imp  or  an  angel,  say- 
ing the  funeral  service  over  you,  and  you  under  the 
clothes,  as  if  you  were  in  a  shroud?" 

This  abrupt  exclamation  came  from  the  rough  voice 
of  Grandchamp,  who  was  so  astonished  at  what  he 
had  seen  that  he  dropped  the  glass  of  lemonade  he 
was  bringing  in.  Finding  that  his  master  did  not 
answer,  he  became  still  more  alarmed,  and  raised 
the  bedclothes.  Cinq-Mars's  face  was  crimson,  and  he 
seemed  asleep,  but  his  old  domestic  saw  that  the  blood 
rushing  to  his  head  had  almost  suffocated  him;  and, 
seizing  a  jug  full  of  cold  water,  he  dashed  the  whole 
of  it  in  his  face.  This  military  remedy  rarely  fails 
to  effect  its  purpose,  and  Cinq-Mars  returned  to  him- 
self with  a  start. 

"Ah!  it  is  thou,  Grandchamp;  what  frightful  dreams 
I  have  had!" 

"Peste!  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  your  dreams,  on  the 
contrary,  are  very  pretty  ones.  I  saw  the  tail  of  the 
last  as  I  came  in;  your  choice  is  not  bad." 

"What  dost  mean,  blockhead?" 

"Nay,  not  a  blockhead,  Monsieur;  I  have  good 
eyes,  and  I  have  seen  what  I  have  seen.  But, 
really  ill  as  you  are,  Monsieur  le  Marechal  would 
never — 

"Thou  art  utterly  doting,  my  friend;  give  me  some 
drink,  I  am  parched  with  thirst.  Oh,  heavens!  what 
a  night!  I  still  see  all  those  women." 

"All  those  women,  Monsieur?  Why,  how  many 
are  here?" 

"I  am  speaking  to  thee  of  a  dream,  blockhead. 
7  [97] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

Why  standest  there  like  a  post,  instead  of  giving  me 
some  drink?" 

" Enough,  Monsieur;  I  will  get  more  lemonade." 
And  going  to  the  door,  he  called  over  the  staircase, 
' '  Germain !  Etienne !  Louis ! ' ' 

The  innkeeper  answered  from  below:  "Coming, 
Monsieur,  coming;  they  have  been  helping  me  to 
catch  the  mad-woman." 

"What  mad-woman?"  said  Cinq-Mars,  rising  in  bed. 

The  host  entered,  and,  taking  off  his  cotton  cap, 
said,  respectfully:  "Oh,  nothing,  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis, only  a  mad-woman  that  came  here  last  night  on 
foot,  and  whom  we  put  in  the  next  room;  but  she 
has  escaped,  and  we  have  not  been  able  to  catch  her." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Cinq-Mars,  returning  to  himself 
and  putting  his  hand  to  his  eyes,  "it  was  not  a  dream, 
then.  And  my  mother,  where  is  she?  and  the  Mare- 
chal,  and — Ah!  and  yet  it  is  but  a  fearful  dream! 
Leave  me." 

As  he  said  this,  he  turned  toward  the  wall,  and 
again  pulled  the  clothes  over  his  head. 

The  innkeeper,  in  amazement,  touched  his  forehead 
three  times  with  his  finger,  looking  at  Grandchamp  as 
if  to  ask  him  whether  his  master  were  also  mad. 

Grandchamp  motioned  him  away  in  silence,  and 
in  order  to  watch  the  rest  of  the  night  by  the  side  of 
Cinq-Mars,  who  was  in  a  deep  sleep,  he  seated  him- 
self in  a  large  armchair,  covered  with  tapestry,  and 
began  to  squeeze  lemons  into  a  glass  of  water  with 
an  air  as  grave  and  severe  as  Archimedes  calculating 
the  condensing  power  of  his  mirrors. 
[98] 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   CABINET 

Men  have  rarely  the  courage  to  be  wholly  good  or  wholly  bad. 

MACHIAVELLI. 

us  leave  our  young  traveller  sleep- 
ing; he  will  soon  pursue  a  long  and 
beautiful  route.  Since  we  are  at 
liberty  to  turn  to  all  points  of  the 
map,  we  will  fix  our  eyes  upon  the 
city  of  Narbonne. 

Behold  the  Mediterranean,  not  far 
distant,  washing  with  its  blue  waters 
the  sandy  shores.  Penetrate  into  that  city  resembling 
Athens;  and  to  find  him  who  reigns  there,  follow 
that  dark  and  irregular  street,  mount  the  steps  of  the 
old  archiepiscopal  palace,  and  enter  the  first  and  larg- 
est of  its  apartments. 

This  was  a  very  long  salon,  lighted  by  a  series  of 
high  lancet  windows,  of  which  the  upper  part  only 
retained  the  blue,  yellow,  and  red  panes  that  shed  a 
mysterious  light  through  the  apartment.  A  large 
round  table  occupied  its  entire  breadth,  near  the  great 
fireplace;  around  this  table,  covered  with  a  colored 
cloth  and  scattered  with  papers  and  portfolios,  were 
seated,  bending  over  their  pens,  eight  secretaries  copy- 
ing letters  which  were  handed  to  them  from  a  smaller 
[99] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

table.  Other  men  quietly  arranged  the  completed 
papers  in  the  shelves  of  a  bookcase,  partly  filled  with 
books  bound  in  black. 

Notwithstanding  the  number  of  persons  assembled 
in  the  room,  one  might  have  heard  the  movements  of 
the  wings  of  a  fly.  The  only  interruption  to  the  si- 
lence was  the  sound  of  pens  rapidly  gliding  over  paper, 
and  a  shrill  voice  dictating,  stopping  every  now  and 
then  to  cough.  This  voice  proceeded  from  a  great 
armchair  placed  beside  the  fire,  which  was  blazing, 
notwithstanding  the  heat  of  the  season  and  of  the 
country.  It  was  one  of  those  armchairs  that  you  still 
see  in  old  castles,  and  which  seem  made  to  read  one's 
self  to  sleep  in,  so  easy  is  every  part  of  it.  The  sitter 
sinks  into  a  circular  cushion  of  down;  if  the  head 
leans  back,  the  cheeks  rest  upon  pillows  covered  with 
silk,  and  the  seat  juts  out  so  far  beyond  the  elbows 
that  one  may  believe  the  provident  upholsterers  of 
our  forefathers  sought  to  provide  that  the  book  should 
make  no  noise  in  falling  so  as  to  awaken  the  sleeper. 

But  we  will  quit  this  digression,  and  speak  of  the 
man  who  occupied  the  chair,  and  who  was  very  far 
from  sleeping.  He  had  a  broad  forehead,  bordered 
with  thin  white  hair,  large,  mild  eyes,  a  wan  face,  to 
which  a  small,  pointed,  white  beard  gave  that  air  of 
subtlety  and  finesse  noticeable  in  all  the  portraits  of 
the  period  of  Louis  XIII.  His  mouth  was  almost 
without  lips,  which  Lavater  deems  an  indubitable 
sign  of  an  evil  mind,  and  it  was  framed  in  a  pair  of 
slight  gray  moustaches  and  a  royale  —  an  ornament 
then  in  fashion,  which  somewhat  resembled  a  comma 
[100] 


CINQ-MARS 

in  form.  The  old  man  wore  a  close  red  cap,  a  large 
robe-de-chambre,  and  purple  silk  stockings;  he  was 
no  less  a  personage  than  Armand  Duplessis,  Cardinal 
de  Richelieu. 

Near  him,  around  the  small  table,  sat  four  youths 
from  fifteen  to  twenty  years  of  age;  these  were  pages, 
or  domestics,  according  to  the  term  then  in  use,  which 
signified  familiars,  friends  of  the  house.  This  custom 
was  a  relic  of  feudal  patronage,  which  still  existed  in 
our  manners.  The  younger  members  of  high  families 
received  wages  from  the  great  lords,  and  were  devoted 
to  their  service  in  all  things,  challenging  the  first 
comer  at  the  wish  of  their  patron.  The  pages  wrote 
letters  from  the  outline  previously  given  them  by  the 
Cardinal,  and  after  their  master  had  glanced  at  them, 
passed  them  to  the  secretaries,  who  made  fair  copies. 
The  Duke,  for  his  part,  wrote  on  his  knee  private  notes 
upon  small  slips  of  paper,  inserting  them  in  almost 
all  the  packets  before  sealing  them,  which  he  did  with 
his  own  hand. 

He  had  been  writing  a  short  time,  when,  in  a  mirror 
before  him,  he  saw  the  youngest  of  his  pages  writing 
something  on  a  sheet  of  paper  much  smaller  than  the 
official  sheet.  He  hastily  wrote  a  few  words,  and  then 
slipped  the  paper  under  the  large  sheet  which,  much 
against  his  inclination,  he  had  to  fill;  but,  seated  be- 
hind the  Cardinal,  he  hoped  that  the  difficulty  with 
which  the  latter  turned  would  prevent  him  from  see- 
ing the  little  manoeuvre  he  had  tried  to  exercise  with 
much  dexterity.  Suddenly  Richelieu  said  to  him,  dry- 
ly, "Come  here,  Monsieur  Olivier." 

[101] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

These  words  came  like  a  thunder-clap  on  the  poor 
boy,  who  seemed  about  sixteen.  He  rose  at  once, 
however,  and  stood  before  the  minister,  his  arms  hang- 
ing at  his  side  and  his  head  lowered. 

The  other  pages  and  the  secretaries  stirred  no  more 
than  soldiers  when  a  comrade  is  struck  down  by  a  ball, 
so  accustomed  were  they  to  this  kind  of  summons. 
The  present  one,  however,  was  more  energetic  than 
usual. 

"What  were  you  writing?" 

"My  lord,  what  your  Eminence  dictated." 

"What!" 

"My  lord,  the  letter  to  Don  Juan  de  Braganza." 

"No  evasions,  Monsieur;  you  were  writing  some- 
thing else." 

"My  lord,"  said  the  page,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
"it  was  a  letter  to  one  of  my  cousins." 

"Let  me  see  it." 

The  page  trembled  in  every  limb  and  was  obliged 
to  lean  against  the  chimney-piece,  as  he  said,  in  a 
hardly  audible  tone,  "It  is  impossible." 

"Monsieur  le  Vicomte  Olivier  d'Entraigues, "  said 
the  minister,  without  showing  the  least  emotion,  "you 
are  no  longer  in  my  service."  The  page  withdrew. 
He  knew  that  there  was  no  reply;  so,  slipping  his  let- 
ter into  his  pocket,  and  opening  the  folding-doors  just 
wide  enough  to  allow  his  exit,  he  glided  out  like  a 
bird  escaped  from  the  cage. 

The  minister  went  on  writing  the  note  upon  his 
knee. 

The  secretaries  redoubled    their  silent  zeal,  when 

[102] 


CINQ-MARS 

suddenly  the  two  wings  of  the  door  were  thrown  back 
and  showed,  standing  in  the  opening,  a  Capuchin, 
who,  bowing,  with  his  arms  crossed  over  his  breast, 
seemed  waiting  for  alms  or  for  an  order  to  retire.  He 
had  a  dark  complexion,  and  was  deeply  pitted  with 
smallpox;  his  eyes,  mild,  but  somewhat  squinting, 
were  almost  hidden  by  his  thick  eyebrows,  which  met 
in  the  middle  of  his  forehead;  on  his  mouth  played 
a  crafty,  mischievous,  and  sinister  smile;  his  beard 
was  straight  and  red,  and  his  costume  was  that  of  the 
order  of  St.  Francis  in  all  its  repulsiveness,  with  san- 
dals on  his  bare  feet,  that  looked  altogether  unfit  to 
tread  upon  carpet. 

Such  as  he  was,  however,  this  personage  appeared 
to  create  a  great  sensation  throughout  the  room;  for, 
without  finishing  the  phrase,  the  line,  or  even  the 
word  begun,  every  person  rose  and  went  out  by  the 
door  where  he  was  still  standing — some  saluting  him 
as  they  passed,  others  turning  away  their  heads,  and 
the  young  pages  holding  their  fingers  to  their  noses, 
but  not  till  they  were  behind  him,  for  they  seemed  to 
have  a  secret  fear  of  him.  When  they  had  all  passed 
out,  he  entered,  making  a  profound  reverence,  because 
the  door  was  still  open;  but,  as  soon  as  it  was  shut, 
unceremoniously  advancing,  he  seated  himself  near  the 
Cardinal,  who,  having  recognized  him  by  the  general 
movement  he  created,  saluted  him  with  a  dry  and 
silent  inclination  of  the  head,  regarding  him  fixedly, 
as  if  awaiting  some  news  and  unable  to  avoid  knitting 
his  brows,  as  at  the  aspect  of  a  spider  or  some  other 
disagreeable  creature. 

[103] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

The  Cardinal  could  not  resist  this  movement  of 
displeasure,  because  he  felt  himself  obliged,  by  the 
presence  of  his  agent,  to  resume  those  profound  and 
painful  conversations  from  which  he  had  for  some 
days  been  free,  in  a  country  whose  pure  air,  favorable 
to  him,  had  somewhat  soothed  the  pain  of  his  malady ; 
that  malady  had  changed  to  a  slow  fever,  but  its  in- 
tervals were  long  enough  to  enable  him  to  forget  dur- 
ing its  absence  that  it  must  return.  Giving,  therefore, 
a  little  rest  to  his  hitherto  indefatigable  mind,  he  had 
been  awaiting,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  perhaps, 
without  impatience,  the  return  of  the  couriers  he  had 
sent  in  all  directions,  like  the  rays  of  a  sun  which 
alone  gave  life  and  movement  to  France.  He  had 
not  expected  the  visit  he  now  received,  and  the  sight 
of  one  of  those  men,  whom,  to  use  his  own  expression, 
he  "steeped  in  crime,"  rendered  all  the  habitual  dis- 
quietudes of  his  life  more  present  to  him,  without  en- 
tirely dissipating  the  cloud  of  melancholy  which  at 
that  time  obscured  his  thoughts. 

The  beginning  of  his  conversation  was  tinged  with 
the  gloomy  hue  of  his  late  reveries;  but  he  soon  be- 
came more  animated  and  vigorous  than  ever,  when 
his  powerful  mind  had  reentered  the  real  world. 

His  confidant,  seeing  that  he  was  expected  to  break 
the  silence,  did  so  in  this  abrupt  fashion: 

"Well,  my  lord,  of  what  are  you  thinking?" 

"Alas,  Joseph,  of  what  should  we  all  think,  but  of 

our  future  happiness  in  a  better  life  ?    For  many  days 

I  have  been  reflecting  that  human  interests  have  too 

much  diverted  me  from  this  great  thought;   and  I  re- 

[104] 


CINQ-MARS 

pent  me  of  having  spent  some  moments  of  my  leisure 
in  profane  works,  such  as  my  tragedies,  Europe  and 
Mirame,  despite  the  glory  they  have  already  gained 
me  among  our  brightest  minds — a  glory  which  will 
extend  unto  futurity." 

Father  Joseph,  full  of  what  he  had  to  say,  was  at 
first  surprised  at  this  opening;  but  he  knew  his  mas- 
ter too  well  to  betray  his  feelings,  and,  well  skilled  in 
changing  the  course  of  his  ideas,  replied: 

"Yes,  their  merit  is  very  great,  and  France  will 
regret  that  these  immortal  works  are  not  followed  by 
similar  productions." 

"Yes,  my  dear  Joseph;  but  it  is  in  vain  that  such 
men  as  Boisrobert,  Claveret,  Colletet,  Corneille,  and, 
above  all,  the  celebrated  Mairet,  have  proclaimed  these 
tragedies  the  finest  that  the  present  or  any  past  age 
has  produced.  I  reproach  myself  for  them,  I  swear  to 
you,  as  for  a  mortal  sin,  and  I  now,  in  my  hours  of 
repose,  occupy  myself  only  with  my  Methode  des  Con- 
troverses,  and  my  book  on  the  Perfection  du  Chretien. 
I  remember  that  I  am  fifty-six  years  old,  and  that  I 
have  an  incurable  malady." 

"These  are  calculations  which  your  enemies  make 
as  precisely  as  your  Eminence,"  said  the  priest,  who 
began  to  be  annoyed  with  this  conversation,  and  was 
eager  to  talk  of  other  matters. 

The  blood  mounted  to  the  Cardinal's  face. 

"I  know  it!  I  know  it  well!"  he  said;  "I  know  all 
their  black  villainy,  and  I  am  prepared  for  it.  But 
what  news  is  there?" 

"According  to  our  arrangement,  my  lord,  we  have 
[105] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

removed  Mademoiselle  d'Hautefort,  as  we  removed 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Fayette  before  her.  So  far  it  is 
well;  but  her  place  is  not  filled,  and  the  King ' 

"Well!" 

"The  King  has  ideas  which  he  never  had  before." 

"Ha!  and  which  come  not  from  me?  Tis  well, 
truly,"  said  the  minister,  with  an  ironic  sneer. 

"What,  my  lord,  leave  the  place  of  the  favorite 
vacant  for  six  whole  days?  It  is  not  prudent;  par- 
don me  for  saying  so." 

"He  has  ideas — ideas!"  repeated  Richelieu,  with  a 
kind  of  terror;  "and  what  are  they?" 

"He  talks  of  recalling  the  Queen-mother,"  said  the 
Capuchin,  in  a  low  voice;  "of  recalling  her  from 
Cologne." 

"Marie  de  Medicis!"  cried  the  Cardinal,  striking 
the  arms  of  his  chair  with  his  hands.  "No,  by 
Heaven,  she  shall  not  again  set  her  foot  upon  the  soil 
of  France,  whence  I  drove  her,  step  by  step !  England 
has  not  dared  to  receive  her,  exiled  by  me;  Holland 
fears  to  be  crushed  by  her;  and  my  kingdom  to  re- 
ceive her!  No,  no,  such  an  idea  could  not  have 
originated  with  himself!  To  recall  my  enemy!  to  re- 
call his  mother!  What  perfidy!  He  would  not  have 
dared  to  think  of  it." 

Then,  having  mused  for  a  moment,  he  added,  fixing 
a  penetrating  look  still  full  of  burning  anger  upon 
Father  Joseph: 

"But  in  what  terms  did  he  express  this  desire? 
Tell  me  his  precise  words." 

"He  said  publicly,  and  in  the  presence  of  Monsieur: 
[106] 


CINQ-MARS 

'I  feel  that  one  of  the  first  duties  of  a  Christian  is  to 
be  a  good  son,  and  I  will  resist  no  longer  the  murmurs 
of  my  conscience.'" 

"Christian!  conscience!  these  are  not  his  expres- 
sions. It  is  Father  Caussin — it  is  his  confessor  who  is 
betraying  me, "  cried  the  Cardinal.  "  Perfidious  Jesuit ! 
I  pardoned  thee  thy  intrigue  with  La  Fayette;  but  I 
will  not  pass  over  thy  secret  counsels.  I  will  have  this 
confessor  dismissed,  Joseph;  he  is  an  enemy  to  the 
State,  I  see  it  clearly.  But  I  myself  have  acted  with 
negligence  for  some  days  past;  I  have  not  sufficiently 
hastened  the  arrival  of  the  young  d'Effiat,  who  will 
doubtless  succeed.  He  is  handsome  and  intellectual, 
they  say.  What  a  blunder!  I  myself  merit  disgrace. 
To  leave  that  fox  of  a  Jesuit  with  the  King,  without 
having  given  him  my  secret  instructions,  without  a 
hostage,  a  pledge,  or  his  fidelity  to  my  orders!  What 
neglect!  Joseph,  take  a  pen,  and  write  what  I  shall 
dictate  for  the  other  confessor,  whom  we  will  choose 
better.  I  think  of  Father  Sirmond." 

Father  Joseph  sat  down  at  the  large  table,  ready  to 
write,  and  the  Cardinal  dictated  to  him  those  duties, 
of  a  new  kind,  which  shortly  afterward  he  dared  to 
have  given  to  the  King,  who  received  them,  respected 
them,  and  learned  them  by  heart  as  the  command- 
ments of  the  Church.  They  have  come  down  to  us, 
— a  terrible  monument  of  the  empire  that  a  man  may 
seize  upon  by  means  of  circumstances,  intrigues,  and 
audacity: 

"I.  A  prince  should  have  a  prime  minister,  and  that  minister 
three  qualities:  (i)  He  should  have  no  passion  but  for  his  prince; 
[107] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

(2)  He  should  be  able  and  faithful;  (3)  He  should  be  an  eccle- 
siastic. 

"II.  A  prince  ought  perfectly  to  love  his  prime  minister. 

"III.  Ought  never  to  change  his  prime  minister. 

"IV.  Ought  to  tell  him  all  things. 

"V.  To  give  him  free  access  to  his  person. 

"VI.  To  give  him  sovereign  authority  over  his  people. 

"VII.  Great  honors  and  large  possessions. 

"VIII.  A  prince  has  no  treasure  more  precious  than  his  prime 
minister. 

"IX.  A  prince  should  not  put  faith  in  what  people  say  against 
his  prime  minister,  nor  listen  to  any  such  slanders. 

"X.  A  prince  should  reveal  to  his  prime  minister  all  that  is 
said  against  him,  even  though  he  has  been  bound  to  keep  it  secret. 

"XI.  A  prince  should  prefer  not  only  the  well-being  of  the 
State,  but  also  his  prime  minister,  to  all  his  relations." 

Such  were  the  commandments  of  the  god  of  France, 
less  astonishing  in  themselves  than  the  terrible  naivete 
which  made  him  bequeath  them  to  posterity,  as  if 
posterity  also  must  believe  in  him. 

While  he  dictated  his  instructions,  reading  them 
from  a  small  piece  of  paper,  written  with  his  own 
hand,  a  deep  melancholy  seemed  to  possess  him  more 
and  more  at  each  word;  and  when  he  had  ended,  he 
fell  back  in  his  chair,  his  arms  crossed,  and  his  head 
sunk  on  his  breast. 

Father  Joseph,  dropping  his  pen,  arose  and  was  in- 
quiring whether  he  were  ill,  when  he  heard  issue  from 
the  depths  of  his  chest  these  mournful  and  memorable 
words : 

"What  utter  weariness!  what  endless  trouble!  If 
the  ambitious  man  could  see  me,  he  would  flee  to  a 
[108] 


CINQ-MARS 

desert.  What  is  my  power?  A  miserable  reflection 
of  the  royal  power;  and  what  labors  to  fix  upon  my 
star  that  incessantly  wavering  ray!  For  twenty  years 
I  have  been  in  vain  attempting  it.  I  can  not  com- 
prehend that  man.  He  dare  not  flee  me;  but  they 
take  him  from  me — he  glides  through  my  fingers. 
What  things  could  I  not  have  done  with  his  heredi- 
tary rights,  had  I  possessed  them?  But,  employing 
such  infinite  calculation  in  merely  keeping  one's  bal- 
ance, what  of  genius  remains  for  high  enterprises? 
I  hold  Europe  in  my  hand,  yet  I  myself  am  sus- 
pended by  a  trembling  hair.  What  is  it  to  me  that 
I  can  cast  my  eyes  confidently  over  the  map  of  Eu- 
rope, when  all  my  interests  are  concentrated  in  his  nar- 
row cabinet,  and  its  few  feet  of  space  give  me  more 
trouble  to  govern  than  the  whole  country  besides? 
See,  then,  what  it  is  to  be  a  prime  minister!  Envy  me, 
my  guards,  if  you  can." 

His  features  were  so  distorted  as  to  give  reason  to 
fear  some  accident;  and  at  the  same  moment  he  was 
seized  with  a  long  and  violent  fit  of  coughing,  which 
ended  in  a  slight  hemorrhage.  He  saw  that  Father 
Joseph,  alarmed,  was  about  to  seize  a  gold  bell  that 
stood  on  the  table,  and,  suddenly  rising  with  all  the 
vivacity  of  a  young  man,  he  stopped  him,  saying: 

"'Tis  nothing,  Joseph;  I  sometimes  yield  to  these 
fits  of  depression;  but  they  do  not  last  long,  and  I 
leave  them  stronger  than  before.  As  for  my  health, 
I  know  my  condition  perfectly;  but  that  is  not  the 
business  in  hand.  What  have  you  done  at  Paris? 
I  am  glad  to  know  the  King  has  arrived  in  Beam,  as 
[109] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

I  wished;  we  shall  be  able  to  keep  a  closer  watch 
upon  him.  How  did  you  induce  him  to  come  away?" 

"A  battle  at  Perpignan." 

"That  is  not  bad.  Well,  we  can  arrange  it  for  him; 
that  occupation  will  do  as  well  as  another  just  now. 
But  the  young  Queen,  what  says  she?" 

"She  is  still  furious  against  you;  her  correspondence 
discovered,  the  questioning  to  which  you  had  sub- 
jected her " 

"Bah!  a  madrigal  and  a  momentary  submission  on 
my  part  will  make  her  forget  that  I  have  separated  her 
from  her  house  of  Austria  and  from  the  country  of 
her  Buckingham.  But  how  does  she  occupy  herself?" 

"In  machinations  with  Monsieur.  But  as  we  have 
his  entire  confidence,  here  are  the  daily  accounts  of 
their  interviews." 

"I  shall  not  trouble  myself  to  read  them;  while  the 
Due  de  Bouillon  remains  in  Italy  I  have  nothing  to 
fear  in  that  quarter.  She  may  have  as  many  petty 
plots  with  Gaston  in  the  chimney-corner  as  she  pleases; 
he  never  got  beyond  his  excellent  intentions,  forsooth! 
He  carries  nothing  into  effect  but  his  withdrawal 
from  the  kingdom.  He  has  had  his  third  dismissal; 
I  will  manage  a  fourth  for  him  whenever  he  pleases; 
he  is  not  worth  the  pistol-shot  you  had  the  Comte  de 
Soissons  settled  with,  and  yet  the  poor  Comte  had 
scarce  more  energy  than  he." 

And  the  Cardinal,  reseating  himself  in  his  chair, 
began  to  laugh  gayly  enough  for  a  statesman. 

"I  always  laugh  when  I  think  of  their  expedition  to 
Amiens.  They  had  me  between  them.  Each  had 
[no] 


CINQ-MARS 

fully  five  hundred  gentlemen  with  him,  armed  to  the 
teeth,  and  all  going  to  despatch  me,  like  Concini;  but 
the  great  Vitry  was  not  there.  They  very  quietly  let 
me  talk  for  an  hour  with  them  about  the  hunt  and  the 
Fete  Dieu,  and  neither  of  them  dared  make  a  sign 
to  their  cut-throats.  I  have  since  learned  from  Cha- 
vigny  that  for  two  long  months  they  had  been  waiting 
that  happy  moment.  For  myself,  indeed,  I  observed 
nothing,  except  that  little  villain,  the  Abbe  de  Gon- 
di,*  who  prowled  near  me,  and  seemed  to  have 
something  hidden  under  his  sleeve;  it  was  he  that 
made  me  get  into  the  coach." 

"Apropos  of  the  Abbe,  my  lord,  the  Queen  insists 
upon  making  him  coadjutor." 

"She  is  mad!  he  will  ruin  her  if  she  connects  her- 
self with  him;  he's  a  musketeer  in  canonicals,  the 
devil  in  a  cassock.  Read  his  Histoire  de  Fiesque; 
you  may  see  himself  in  it.  He  will  be  nothing  while 
Hive." 

"How  is  it  that  with  a  judgment  like  yours  you 
bring  another  ambitious  man  of  his  age  to  court?" 

"That  is  an  entirely  different  matter.  This  young 
Cinq-Mars,  my  friend,  will  be  a  mere  puppet.  He 
will  think  of  nothing  but  his  ruff  and  his  shoulder- 
knots;  his  handsome  figure  assures  me  of  this.  I 
know  that  he  is  gentle  and  weak ;  it  was  for  this  reason 
I  preferred  him  to  his  elder  brother.  He  will  do  what- 
ever we  wish." 

"Ah,  my  lord,"  said  the  monk,  with  an  expression 
of  doubt,  "I  never  place  much  reliance  on  people 

*  Afterward  Cardinal  de  Retz. 
[ill] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

whose  exterior  is  so  calm;  the  hidden  flame  is  often 
all  the  more  dangerous.  Recollect  the  Marechal  d'Ef- 
fiat,  his  father." 

"But  I  tell  you  he  is  a  boy,  and  I  shall  bring  him 
up;  while  Gondi  is  already  an  accomplished  con- 
spirator, an  ambitious  knave  who  sticks  at  nothing. 
He  has  dared  to  dispute  Madame  de  la  Meilleraie 
with  me.  Can  you  conceive  it?  He  dispute  with 
me!  A  petty  priestling,  who  has  no  other  merit  than 
a  little  lively  small-talk  and  a  cavalier  air*  Fortunately, 
the  husband  himself  took  care  to  get  rid  of  him  " 

Father  Joseph,  who  listened  with  equal  impatience 
to  his  master  when  he  spoke  of  his  bonnes  fortunes  or 
of  his  verses,  made,  however,  a  grimace  which  he 
meant  to  be  very  sly  and  insinuating,  but  which  was 
simply  ugly  and  awkward;  he  fancied  that  the  ex- 
pression of  his  mouth,  twisted  about  like  a  monkey's, 
conveyed,  "Ah!  who  can  resist  your  Eminence?" 
But  his  Eminence  only  read  there,  "I  am  a  clown  who 
knows  nothing  of  the  great  world";  and,  without 
changing  his  voice,  he  suddenly  said,  taking  up  a 
despatch  from  the  table: 

"The  Due  de  Rohan  is  dead,  that  is  good  news; 
the  Huguenots  are  ruined.  He  is  a  lucky  man.  I 
had  him  condemned  by  the  Parliament  of  Toulouse  to 
be  torn  in  pieces  by  four  horses,  and  here  he  dies 
quietly  on  the  battlefield  of  Rheinfeld.  But  what 
matters?  The  result  is  the  same.  Another  great 
head  is  laid  low!  How  they  have  fallen  since  that  of 
Montmorency!  I  now  see  hardly  any  that  do  not 
bow  before  me.  We  have  already  punished  almost 

[112] 


CINQ-MARS 

all  our  dupes  of  Versailles;  assuredly  they  have  noth- 
ing with  which  to  reproach  me.  I  simply  exercise 
against  them  the  law  of  retaliation,  treating  them  as 
they  would  have  treated  me  in  the  council  of  the 
Queen-mother.  The  old  dotard  Bassompierre  shall  be 
doomed  for  perpetual  imprisonment,  and  so  shall  the 
assassin  Marechal  de  Vitry,  for  that  was  the  punish- 
ment they  voted  me.  As  for  Marillac,  who  counselled 
death,  I  reserve  death  for  him  at  the  first  false  step  he 
makes,  and  I  beg  thee,  Joseph,  to  remind  me  of  him; 
we  must  be  just  to  all.  The  Due  de  Bouillon  still 
keeps  up  his  head  proudly  on  account  of  his  Sedan, 
but  I  shall  make  him  yield.  Their  blindness  is  truly 
marvellous!  They  think  themselves  all  free  to  con- 
spire, not  perceiving  that  they  are  merely  fluttering  at 
the  ends  of  the  threads  that  I  hold  in  my  hand,  and 
which  I  lengthen  now  and  then  to  give  them  air  and 
space.  Did  the  Huguenots  cry  out  as  one  man  at 
the  death  of  their  dear  duke?" 

"Less  so  than  at  the  affair  of  Loudun,  which  is 
happily  concluded.'* 

"What!  Happily?  I  hope  that  Grandier  is 
dead?" 

"Yes;  that  is  what  I  meant.  Your  Eminence  may 
be  fully  satisfied.  All  was  settled  in  twenty-four 
hours.  He  is  no  longer  thought  of.  Only  Laubarde- 
mont  committed  a  slight  blunder  in  making  the  trial 
public.  This  caused  a  little  tumult;  but  we  have  a 
description  of  the  rioters,  and  measures  have  been 
taken  to  seek  them  out." 

"This  is  well,  very  well.  Urbain  was  too  superior 
8  [113] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

a  man  to  be  left  there;  he  was  turning  Protestant.  I 
would  wager  that  he  would  have  ended  by  abjuring. 
His  work  against  the  celibacy  of  priests  made  me  con- 
jecture this;  and  in  cases  of  doubt,  remember,  Joseph, 
it  is  always  best  to  cut  the  tree  before  the  fruit  is 
gathered.  These  Huguenots,  you  see,  form  a  regular 
republic  in  the  State.  If  once  they  had  a  majority  in 
France,  the  monarchy  would  be  lost,  and  they  would 
establish  some  popular  government  which  might  be 
durable." 

"And  what  deep  pain  do  they  daily  cause  our  holy 
Father  the  Pope!"  said  Joseph. 

"Ah,"  interrupted  the  Cardinal,  "I  see;  thou 
wouldst  remind  me  of  his  obstinacy  in  not  giving 
thee  the  hat.  Be  tranquil;  I  will  speak  to-day  on  the 
subject  to  the  new  ambassador  we  are  sending,  the 
Marechal  d'Estrees,  and  he  will,  on  his  arrival,  doubt- 
less obtain  that  which  has  been  in  train  these  two 
years — thy  nomination  to  the  cardinalate.  I  myself 
begin  to  think  that  the  purple  would  become  thee 
well,  for  it  does  not  show  blood-stains." 

And  both  burst  into  laughter— the  one  as  a  master, 
overwhelming  the  assassin  whom  he  pays  with  his 
utter  scorn;  the  other  as  a  slave,  resigned  to  all  the 
humiliation  by  which  he  rises. 

The  laughter  which  the  ferocious  pleasantry  of  the 
old  minister  had  excited  had  hardly  subsided,  when 
the  door  opened,  and  a  page  announced  several  cour- 
iers who  had  arrived  simultaneously  from  different 
points.  Father  Joseph  arose,  and,  leaning  against  the 
wall  like  an  Egyptian  mummy,  allowed  nothing  to 
["4] 


CINQ-MARS 

appear  upon  his  face  but  an  expression  of  stolid  con- 
templation. Twelve  messengers  entered  successively, 
attired  in  various  disguises;  one  appeared  to  be  a 
Swiss  soldier,  another  a  sutler,  a  third  a  master-mason. 
They  had  been  introduced  into  the  palace  by  a  secret 
stairway  and  corridor,  and  left  the  cabinet  by  a  door 
opposite  that  at  which  they  had  entered,  without  any 
opportunity  of  meeting  one  another  or  communicating 
the  contents  of  their  despatches.  Each  laid  a  rolled 
or  folded  packet  of  papers  on  the  large  table,  spoke 
for  a  moment  with  the  Cardinal  in  the  embrasure  of 
a  window  and  withdrew.  Richelieu  had  risen  on  the 
entrance  of  the  first  messenger,  and,  careful  to  do  all 
himself,  had  received  them  all,  listened  to  all,  and 
with  his  own  hand  had  closed  the  door  upon  all. 
When  the  last  was  gone,  he  signed  to  Father  Joseph, 
and,  without  speaking,  both  proceeded  to  unfold,  or, 
rather,  to  tear  open,  the  packets  of  despatches,  and  in 
a  few  words  communicated  to  each  other  the  sub- 
stance of  the  letters. 

"The  Due  de  Weimar  pursues  his  advantage;  the 
Due  Charles  is  defeated.  Our  General  is  in  good 
spirits;  here  are  some  of  his  lively  remarks  at  table. 
Good!" 

"Monseigneur  le  Vicomte  de  Turenne  has  retaken 
the  towns  of  Lorraine;  and  here  are  his  private  con- 
versations  

"Oh!  pass  over  them;  they  can  not  be  dangerous. 

He  is  ever  a  good  and  honest  man,  in  no  way  mixing 

himself  up  with  politics;  so  that  some  one  gives  him 

a  little  army  to  play  at  chess  with,  no  matter  against 

["5] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

whom,  he  is  content.  We  shall  always  be  good 
friends." 

"  The  Long  Parliament  still  endures  in  England.  The 
Commons  pursue  their  project ;  there  are  massacres  in 
Ireland.  The  Earl  of  Strafford  is  condemned  to  death. " 

"To  death!    Horrible!" 

"I  will  read:  'His  Majesty  Charles  I  has  not  had 
the  courage  to  sign  the  sentence,  but  he  has  appointed 
four  commissioners.'" 

"Weak  king,  I  abandon  thee!  Thou  shalt  have  no 
more  of  our  money.  Fall,  since  thou  art  ungrateful! 
Unhappy  Went  worth!" 

A  tear  rose  in  the  eyes  of  Richelieu  as  he  said  this; 
the  man  who  had  but  now  played  with  the  lives  of 
so  many  others  wept  for  a  minister  abandoned  by  his 
prince.  The  similarity  between  that  position  and  his 
own  affected  him,  and  it  was  his  own  case  he  deplored 
in  the  person  of  the  foreign  minister.  He  ceased  to 
read  aloud  the  despatches  that  he  opened,  and  his 
confidant  followed  his  example.  He  examined  with 
scrupulous  attention  the  detailed  accounts  of  the  most 
minute  and  secret  actions  of  each  person  of  any  im- 
portance— accounts  which  he  always  required  to  be 
added  to  the  official  despatches  made  by  his  able 
spies.  All  the  despatches  to  the  King  passed  through 
his  hands,  and  were  carefully  revised  so  as  to  reach 
the  King  amended  to  the  state  in  which  he  wished 
him  to  read  them.  The  private  notes  were  all  care- 
fully burned  by  the  monk  after  the  Cardinal  had  as- 
certained their  contents.  The  latter,  however,  seemed 
by  no  means  satisfied,  and  he  was  walking  quickly 
[116] 


CINQ-MARS 

to  and  fro  with  gestures  expressive  of  anxiety,  when 
the  door  opened,  and  a  thirteenth  courier  entered. 
This  one  seemed  a  boy  hardly  fourteen  years  old;  he 
held  under  his  arm  a  packet  sealed  with  black  for 
the  King,  and  gave  to  the  Cardinal  only  a  small  letter, 
of  which  a  stolen  glance  from  Joseph  could  collect 
but  four  words.  The  Cardinal  started,  tore  the  billet 
into  a  thousand  pieces,  and,  bending  down  to  the 
ear  of  the  boy,  spoke  to  him  for  a  long  time;  all  that 
Joseph  heard  was,  as  the  messenger  went  out: 

"Take  good  heed  to  this;  not  until  twelve  hours 
from  this  time." 

During  this  aside  of  the  Cardinal,  Joseph  was  oc- 
cupied in  concealing  an  infinite  number  of  libels  from 
Flanders  and  Germany,  which  the  minister  always 
insisted  upon  seeing,  however  bitter  they  might  be  to 
him.  In  this  respect,  he  affected  a  philosophy  which 
he  was  far  from  possessing,  and  to  deceive  those  around 
him  he  would  sometimes  pretend  that  his  enemies 
were  not  wholly  wrong,  and  would  outwardly  laugh 
at  their  pleasantries;  but  those  who  knew  his  char- 
acter better  detected  bitter  rage  lurking  under  this 
apparent  moderation,  and  knew  that  he  was  never  satis- 
fied until  he  had  got  the  hostile  book  condemned  by 
the  parliament  to  be  burned  in  the  Place  de  Greve,  as 
"injurious  to  the  King,  in  the  person  of  his  minister, 
the  most  illustrious  Cardinal,"  as  we  read  in  the  de- 
crees of  the  time,  and  that  his  only  regret  was  that 
the  author  was  not  in  the  place  of  his  book — a  satis- 
faction he  gave  himself  whenever  he  could,  as  in  the 
case  of  Urbain  Grandier. 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

It  was  his  colossal  pride  which  he  thus  avenged, 
without  avowing  it  even  to  himself — nay,  laboring  for 
a  length  of  time,  sometimes  for  a  whole  twelvemonth 
together,  to  persuade  himself  that  the  interest  of  the 
State  was  concerned  in  the  matter.  Ingenious  in  con- 
necting his  private  affairs  with  the  affairs  of  France, 
he  had  convinced  himself  that  she  bled  from  the 
wounds  which  he  received.  Joseph,  careful  not  to 
irritate  his  ill-temper  at  this  moment,  put  aside  and 
concealed  a  book  entitled  Mysteres  Politiques  du  Car- 
dinal de  la  Rochelle;  also  another,  attributed  to  a 
monk  of  Munich,  entitled  Questions  quolibetiques , 
ajustees  au  temps  present,  et  Impiete  Sanglante  du  dieu 
Mars.  The  worthy  advocate  Aubery,  who  has  given 
us  one  of  the  most  faithful  histories  of  the  most  eminent 
Cardinal,  is  transported  with  rage  at  the  mere  title  of 
the  first  of  these  books,  and  exclaims  that  "the  great 
minister  had  good  reason  to  glorify  himself  that  his 
enemies,  inspired  against  their  will  with  the  same  en- 
thusiasm which  conferred  the  gift  of  rendering  oracles 
upon  the  ass  of  Balaam,  upon  Caiaphas  and  others, 
who  seemed  most  unworthy  of  the  gift  of  prophecy, 
called  him  with  good  reason  Cardinal  de  la  Rochelle, 
since  three  years  after  their  writing  he  reduced  that 
town;  thus  Scipio  was  called  Africanus  for  having 
subjugated  that  PROVINCE!"  Very  little  was  wanting 
to  make  Father  Joseph,  who  had  necessarily  the  same 
feelings,  express  his  indignation  in  the  same  terms; 
for  he  remembered  with  bitterness  the  ridiculous  part 
he  had  played  in  the  siege  of  Rochelle,  which,  though 
not  a  province  like  Africa,  had  ventured  to  resist  the 
[118] 


CINQ-MARS 

most  eminent  Cardinal,  and  into  which  Father  Joseph, 
piquing  himself  on  his  military  skill,  had  proposed 
to  introduce  the  troops  through  a  sewer.  However, 
he  restrained  himself,  and  had  time  to  conceal  the 
libel  in  the  pocket  of  his  brown  robe  ere  the  minister 
had  dismissed  his  young  courier  and  returned  to  the 
table. 

"And  now  to  depart,  Joseph,"  he  said.  "Open 
the  doors  to  all  that  court  which  besieges  me,  and  let 
us  go  to  the  King,  who  awaits  me  at  Perpignan;  this 
time  I  have  him  for  good." 

The  Capuchin  drew  back,  and  immediately  the 
pages,  throwing  open  the  gilded  doors,  announced  in 
succession  the  greatest  lords  of  the  period,  who  had 
obtained  permission  from  the  King  to  come  and  salute 
the  minister.  Some,  even,  under  the  pretext  of  illness 
or  business,  had  departed  secretly,  in  order  not  to  be 
among  the  last  at  Richelieu's  reception;  and  the  un- 
happy monarch  found  himself  almost  as  alone  as 
other  kings  find  themselves  on  their  deathbeds.  But 
with  him,  the  throne  seemed,  in  the  eyes  of  the  court, 
his  dying  couch,  his  reign  a  continual  last  agony,  and 
his  minister  a  threatening  successor. 

Two  pages,  of  the  first  families  of  France,  stood  at 
the  door,  where  the  ushers  announced  each  of  the 
persons  whom  Father  Joseph  had  found  in  the  ante- 
room. The  Cardinal,  still  seated  in  his  great  arm- 
chair, remained  motionless  as  the  common  couriers 
entered,  inclined  his  head  to  the  more  distinguished, 
and  to  princes  alone  put  his  hands  on  the  elbows  of 
his  chair  and  slightly  rose ;  each  person,  having  pro- 
["9] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

foundly  saluted  him,  stood  before  him  near  the  fire- 
place, waited  till  he  had  spoken  to  him,  and  then,  at  a 
wave  of  his  hand,  completed  the  circuit  of  the  room, 
and  went  out  by  the  same  door  at  which  he  had  en- 
tered, paused  for  a  moment  to  salute  Father  Joseph, 
who  aped  his  master,  and  who  for  that  reason  had 
been  named  "his  Gray  Eminence,"  and  at  last  quitted 
the  palace,  unless,  indeed,  he  remained  standing  be- 
hind the  chair,  if  the  minister  had  signified  that  he 
should,  which  was  considered  a  token  of  very  great 
favor. 

He  allowed  to  pass  several  insignificant  persons,  and 
many  whose  merits  were  useless  to  him;  the  first 
whom  he  stopped  in  the  procession  was  the  Mare- 
chal  d'Estrees,  who,  about  to  set  out  on  an  embassy 
to  Rome,  came  to  make  his  adieux;  those  behind  him 
stopped  short.  This  circumstance  warned  the  court- 
iers in  the  anteroom  that  a  longer  conversation  than 
usual  was  on  foot,  and  Father  Joseph,  advancing  to 
the  threshold,  exchanged  with  the  Cardinal  a  glance 
which  seemed  to  say,  on  the  one  side,  "Remember  the 
promise  you  have  just  made  me,"  on  the  other,  "Set 
your  mind  at  rest."  At  the  same  time,  the  expert 
Capuchin  let  his  master  see  that  he  held  upon  his 
arm  one  of  his  victims,  whom  he  was  forming  into  a 
docile  instrument;  this  was  a  young  gentleman  who 
wore  a  very  short  green  cloak,  a  pourpoint  of  the  same 
color,  close-fitting  red  breeches,  with  glittering  gold 
garters  below  the  knee — the  costume  of  the  pages  of 
Monsieur.  Father  Joseph,  indeed,  spoke  to  him  se- 
cretly, but  not  in  the  way  the  Cardinal  imagined;  for 

[120] 


CINQ-MARS 

he  contemplated  being  his  equal,  and  was  preparing 
other  connections,  in  case  of  defection  on  the  part  of 
the  prime  minister. 

"Tell  Monsieur  not  to  trust  in  appearances,  and 
that  he  has  no  servant  more  faithful  than  I.  The 
Cardinal  is  on  the  decline,  and  my  conscience  tells  me 
to  warn  against  his  faults  him  who  may  inherit  the 
royal  power  during  the  minority.  To  give  your  great 
Prince  a  proof  of  my  faith,  tell  him  that  it  is  intended 
to  arrest  his  friend,  Puy-Laurens,  and  that  he  had 
better  be  kept  out  of  the  way,  or  the  Cardinal  will  put 
him  in  the  Bastille." 

While  the  servant  was  thus  betraying  his  master, 
the  master,  not  to  be  behindhand  with  him,  betrayed 
his  servant.  His  self-love,  and  some  remnant  of  re- 
spect to  the  Church,  made  him  shudder  at  the  idea  of 
seeing  a  contemptible  agent  invested  with  the  same 
hat  which  he  himself  wore  as  a  crown,  and  seated  as 
high  as  himself,  except  as  to  the  precarious  position 
of  minister.  Speaking,  therefore,  in  an  undertone  to 
the  Marechal  d'Estrees,  he  said: 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  importune  Urbain  VIII  any 
further  in  favor  of  the  Capuchin  you  see  yonder;  it  is 
enough  that  his  Majesty  has  deigned  to  name  him  for 
the  cardinalate.  One  can  readily  conceive  the  repug- 
nance of  his  Holiness  to  clothe  this  mendicant  in  the 
Roman  purple." 

Then,  passing  on  to  general  matters,  he  continued: 

"Truly,  I  know  not  what  can  have  cooled  the  Holy 
Father  toward  us;  what  have  we  done  that  was  not 
for  the  glory  of  our  Holy  Mother,  the  Catholic  Church  ? 

[121] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

I  myself  said  the  first  mass  at  Rochelle,  and  you  see 
for  yourself,  Monsieur  le  Marechal,  that  our  habit 
is  everywhere;  and  even  in  your  armies,  the  Cardinal 
de  la  Vallette  has  commanded  gloriously  in  the  palat- 
inate." 

"And  has  just  made  a  very  fine  retreat,"  said 
the  Mare"chal,  laying  a  slight  emphasis  upon  the 
word. 

The  minister  continued,  without  noticing  this  little 
outburst  of  professional  jealousy,  and  raising  his  voice, 
said: 

"God  has  shown  that  He  did  not  scorn  to  send  the 
spirit  of  victory  upon  his  Levites,  for  the  Due  de 
Weimar  did  not  more  powerfully  aid  in  the  conquest 
of  Lorraine  than  did  this  pious  Cardinal,  and  never 
was  a  naval  army  better  commanded  than  by  our 
Archbishop  of  Bordeaux  at  Rochelle." 

It  was  well  known  that  at  this  very  time  the  minis- 
ter was  incensed  against  this  prelate,  whose  haughti- 
ness was  so  overbearing,  and  whose  impertinent  ebul- 
litions were  so  frequent  as  to  have  involved  him  in 
two  very  disagreeable  affairs  at  Bordeaux.  Four  years 
before,  the  Due  d'Epernon,  then  governor  of  Guyenne, 
followed  by  all  his  train  and  by  his  troops,  meeting 
him  among  his  clergy  in  a  procession,  had  called  him 
an  insolent  fellow,  and  given  him  two  smart  blows 
with  his  cane;  whereupon  the  Archbishop  had  excom- 
municated him.  And  again,  recently,  despite  this 
lesson,  he  had  quarrelled  with  the  Marechal  de  Vitry, 
from  whom  he  had  received  "twenty  blows  with  a 
cane  or  stick,  which  you  please,"  wrote  the  Cardinal- 
[122] 


CINQ-MARS 

Duke  to  the  Cardinal  de  la  Vallette,  "and  I  think  he 
would  like  to  excommunicate  all  France."  In  fact, 
he  did  excommunicate  the  MarechaPs  baton,  remem- 
bering that  in  the  former  case  the  Pope  had  obliged 
the  Due  d'Epernon  to  ask  his  pardon;  but  M.  Vitry, 
who  had  caused  the  Marechal  d'Ancre  to  be  assassi- 
nated, stood  too  high  at  court  for  that,  and  the  Arch- 
bishop, in  addition  to  his  beating,  got  well  scolded 
by  the  minister. 

M.  d'Estrees  thought,  therefore,  sagely  that  there 
might  be  some  irony  in  the  Cardinal's  manner  of  re- 
ferring to  the  warlike  talents  of  the  Archbishop,  and 
he  answered,  with  perfect  sang-froid: 

"It  is  true,  my  lord,  no  one  can  say  that  it  was 
upon  the  sea  he  was  beaten." 

His  Eminence  could  not  restrain  a  smile  at  this; 
but  seeing  that  the  electrical  effect  of  that  smile  had 
created  others  in  the  hall,  as  well  as  whisperings  and 
conjectures,  he  immediately  resumed  his  gravity,  and 
familiarly  taking  the  MarechaPs  arm,  said: 

"Come,  Monsieur  PAmbassadeur,  you  are  ready  at 
repartee.  With  you  I*should  not  fear  Cardinal  Albor- 
nos,  or  all  the  Borgias  in  the  world — no,  nor  all  the 
efforts  of  their  Spain  with  the  Holy  Father." 

Then,  raising  his  voice,  and  looking  around,  as  if 
addressing  himself  to  the  silent,  and,  so  to  speak,  cap- 
tive assembly,  he  continued: 

"I  hope  that  we  shall  no  more  be  reproached,  as 

formerly,  for  having  formed  an  alliance  with  one  of 

the  greatest  men  of  our  day;  but  as  Gustavus  Adolphus 

is  dead,  the  Catholic  King  will  no  longer  have  any  pre- 

[123] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

text  for  soliciting  the  excommunication  of  the  most 
Christian  King.  How  say  you,  my  dear  lord?"  ad- 
dressing himself  to  the  Cardinal  de  la  Vallette,  who 
now  approached,  fortunately  without  having  heard 
the  late  allusion  to  himself.  "Monsieur  d'Estrees, 
remain  near  our  chair;  we  have  still  many  things  to 
say  to  you,  and  you  are  not  one  too  many  in  our  con- 
versations, for  we  have  no  secrets.  Our  policy  is 
frank  and  open  to  all  men;  the  interest  of  his  Majesty 
and  of  the  State — nothing  more." 

The  Marechal  made  a  profound  bow,  fell  back  be- 
hind the  chair  of  the  minister,  and  gave  place  to  the 
Cardinal  de  la  Vallette,  who,  incessantly  bowing  and 
flattering  and  swearing  devotion  and  entire  obedience 
to  the  Cardinal,  as  if  to  expiate  the  obduracy  of  his 
father,  the  Due  d'Epernon,  received  in  return  a  few 
vague  words,  to  no  meaning  or  purpose,  the  Cardinal 
all  the  while  looking  toward  the  door,  to  see  who 
should  follow.  He  had  even  the  mortification  to  find 
himself  abruptly  interrupted  by  the  minister,  who 
cried  at  the  most  flattering  period  of  his  honeyed  dis- 
course : 

"Ah!  is  that  you  at  last,  my  dear  Fabert?  How  I 
have  longed  to  see  you,  to  talk  of  the  siege!" 

The  General,  with  a  brusque  and  awkward  manner, 
saluted  the  Cardinal- Generalissimo,  and  presented  to 
him  the  officers  who  had  come  from  the  camp  with 
him.  He  talked  some  time  of  the  operations  of  the 
siege,  and  the  Cardinal  seemed  to  be  paying  him  court 
now,  in  order  to  prepare  him  afterward  for  receiving 
his  orders  even  on  the  field  of  battle;  he  spoke  to  the 
[124] 


CINQ-MARS 

officers  who  accompanied  him,  calling  them  by  their 
names,  and  questioning  them  about  the  camp. 

They  all  stood  aside  to  make  way  for  the  Due  d'An- 
gouleme — that  Valois,  who,  having  struggled  against 
Henri  IV,  now  prostrated  himself  before  Richelieu. 
He  solicited  a  command,  having  been  only  third  in 
rank  at  the  siege  of  Rochelle.  After  him  came  young 
Mazarin,  ever  supple  and  insinuating,  but  already 
confident  in  his  fortune. 

The  Due  d'Halluin  came  after  them;  the  Cardinal 
broke  off  the  compliments  he  was  addressing  to  the 
others,  to  utter,  in  a  loud  voice : 

"Monsieur  le  Due,  I  inform  you  with  pleasure  that 
the  King  has  made  you  a  marshal  of  France;  you 
will  sign  yourself  Schomberg,  will  you  not,  at  Leucate, 
delivered,  as  we  hope,  by  you?  But  pardon  me,  here 
is  Monsieur  de  Montauron,  who  has  doubtless  some- 
thing important  to  communicate." 

"Oh,  no,  my  lord,  I  would  only  say  that  the  poor 
young  man  whom  you  deigned  to  consider  in  your 
service  is  dying  of  hunger." 

"Pshaw!  at  such  a  moment  to  speak  of  things  like 
this!  Your  little  Corneille  will  not  write  anything 
good ;  we  have  only  seen  Le  Cid  and  Les  Horaces 
as  yet.  Let  him  work,  let  him  work!  it  is  known  that 
he  is  in  my  service,  and  that  is  disagreeable.  How- 
ever, since  you  interest  yourself  in  the  matter,  I  give 
him  a  pension  of  five  hundred  crowns  on  my  privy 
purse." 

The  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  retired,  charmed 
with  the  liberality  of  the  minister,  and  went  home  to 
[125] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

receive  with  great  affability  the  dedication  of  Cinna, 
wherein  the  great  Corneille  compares  his  soul  to  that 
of  Augustus,  and  thanks  him  for  having  given  alms 
a  quelques  Muses. 

The  Cardinal,  annoyed  by  this  importunity,  rose, 
observing  that  the  day  was  advancing,  and  that  it 
was  time  to  set  out  to  visit  the  King. 

At  this  moment,  and  as  the  greatest  noblemen  pre- 
sent were  offering  their  arms  to  aid  him  in  walking, 
a  man  in  the  robe  of  a  referendary  advanced  toward 
him,  saluting  him  with  a  complacent  and  confident 
smile  which  astonished  all  the  people  there,  accus- 
tomed to  the  great  world,  seeming  to  say:  "We  have 
secret  affairs  together;  you  shall  see  how  agreeable 
he  makes  himself  to  me.  I  am  at  home  in  his  cab- 
inet." His  heavy  and  awkward  manner,  however, 
betrayed  a  very  inferior  being;  it  was  Laubardemont. 

Richelieu  knit  his  brows  when  he  saw  him,  and  cast 
a  glance  at  Joseph;  then,  turning  toward  those  who 
surrounded  him,  he  said,  with  bitter  scorn : 

"Is  there  some  criminal  about  us  to  be  appre- 
hended?" 

Then,  turning  his  back  upon  the  discomfited  Lau- 
bardemont, the  Cardinal  left  him  Tedder  than  his  robe, 
and,  preceded  by  the  crowd  of  personages  who  were 
to  escort  him  in  carriages  or  on  horseback,  he  de- 
scended the  great  staircase  of  the  palace. 

All  the  people  and  the  authorities  of  Narbonne 
viewed  this  royal  departure  with  amazement. 

The  Cardinal  entered  alone  a  spacious  square  litter, 
in  which  he  was  to  travel  to  Perpignan,  his  infir- 
[126] 


CINQ-MARS 

mities  not  permitting  him  to  go  in  a  coach,  or  to  per- 
form the  journey  on  horseback.  This  kind  of  mov- 
ing chamber  contained  a  bed,  a  table,  and  a  small 
chair  for  the  page  who  wrote  or  read  for  him.  This 
machine,  covered  with  purple  damask,  was  carried 
by  eighteen  men,  who  were  relieved  at  intervals  of  a 
league;  they  were  selected  among  his  guards,  and  al- 
ways performed  this  service  of  honor  with  uncovered 
heads,  however  hot  or  wet  the  weather  might  be.  The 
Due  d'Angouleme,  the  Marechals  de  Schomberg  and 
d'Estrees,  Fabert,  and  other  dignitaries  were  on 
horseback  beside  the  litter;  after  them,  among  the 
most  prominent  were  the  Cardinal  de  la  Vallette  and 
Mazarin,  with  Chavigny,  and  the  Marechal  de  Vitry, 
anxious  to  avoid  the  Bastille,  with  which  it  was  said 
he  was  threatened. 

Two  coaches  followed  for  the  Cardinal's  secreta- 
ries, physicians,  and  confessor;  then  eight  others,  each 
with  four  horses,  for  his  gentlemen,  and  twenty-four 
mules  for  his  luggage.  Two  hundred  musketeers  on 
foot  marched  close  behind  him,  and  his  company  of 
men-at-arms  of  the  guard  and  his  light-horse,  all 
gentlemen,  rode  before  and  behind  him  on  splendid 
horses. 

Such  was  the  equipage  in  which  the  prime  minister 
proceeded  to  Perpignan;  the  size  of  the  litter  often 
made  it  necessary  to  enlarge  the  roads,  and  knock 
down  the  walls  of  some  of  the  towns  and  villages  on 
the  way,  into  which  it  could  not  otherwise  enter,  "so 
that,"  say  the  authors  and  manuscripts  of  the  time, 
full  of  a  sincere  admiration  for  all  this  luxury — "so 
[127] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

that  he  seemed  a  conqueror  entering  by  the  breach." 
We  have  sought  in  vain  with  great  care  in  these  docu- 
ments, for  any  account  of  proprietors  or  inhabitants  of 
these  dwellings  so  making  room  for  his  passage  who 
shared  in  this  admiration;  but  we  have  been  unable 
to  find  any  mention  of  such. 


[128] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   INTERVIEW 
Mon  ge"nie  e*  tonne  tremble  devant  le  sien. 

'HE  pompous  cortege,  of  the  Cardinal 
halted  at  the  beginning  of  the  camp. 
All  the  armed  troops  were  drawn  up 
in  the  finest  order;  and  amid  the 
sound  of  cannon  and  the  music  of 
each  regiment  the  litter  traversed  a 
long  line  of  cavalry  and  infantry, 
formed  from  the  outermost  tent  to 
that  of  the  minister,  pitched  at  some  distance  from  the 
royal  quarters,  and  which  its  purple  covering  distin- 
guished at  a  distance.  Each  general  of  division  ob- 
tained a  nod  or  a  word  from  the  Cardinal,  who  at 
length  reaching  his  tent  and,  dismissing  his  train, 
shut  himself  in,  waiting  for  the  time  to  present  him- 
self to  the  King.  But,  before  him,  every  person  of 
his  escort  had  repaired  thither  individually,  and,  with- 
out entering  the  royal  abode,  had  remained  in  the  long 
galleries  covered  with  striped  stuff,  and  arranged  as 
became  avenues  leading  to  the  Prince.  The  court- 
iers walking  in  groups,  saluted  one  another  and  shook 
hands,  regarding  each  other  haughtily,  according  to 
their  connections  or  the  lords  to  whom  they  belonged. 
Others  whispered  together,  and  showed  signs  of  aston- 
9  [129] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

ishment,  pleasure,  or  anger,  which  showed  that  some- 
thing extraordinary  had  taken  place.  Among  a  thou- 
sand others,  one  singular  dialogue  occurred  in  a  corner 
of  the  principal  gallery. 

"May  I  ask,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  why  you  look  at  me 
so  fixedly?" 

"Parbleu!  Monsieur  de  Launay,  it  is  because  I'm 
curious  to  see  what  you  will  do.  All  the  world  aban- 
dons your  Cardinal-Duke  since  your  journey  into  Tou- 
raine;  if  you  do  not  believe  it,  go  and  ask  the  people 
of  Monsieur  or  of  the  Queen.  You  are  behindhand 
ten  minutes  by  the  watch  with  the  Cardinal  de  la 
Vallette,  who  has  just  shaken  hands  with  Rochefort 
and  the  gentlemen  of  the  late  Comte  de  Soissons,  whom 
I  shall  regret  as  long  as  I  live." 

"Monsieur  de  Gondi,  I  understand  you;  is  it  a 
challenge  with  which  you  honor  me?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  answered  the  young 
Abbe,  saluting  him  with  all  the  gravity  of  the  time; 
"I  sought  an  occasion  to  challenge  you  in  the  name 
of  Monsieur  d'Attichi,  my  friend,  with  whom  you  had 
something  to  do  at  Paris." 

"Monsieur  1'Abbe,  I  am  at  your  command.  I  will 
seek  my  seconds;  do  you  the  same." 

"On  horseback,  with  sword  and  pistol,  I  suppose?" 
added  Gondi,  with  the  air  of  a  man  arranging  a  party 
of  pleasure,  lightly  brushing  the  sleeve  of  his  cassock. 

"If  you  please,"  replied  the  other.  And  they  sepa- 
rated for  a  time,  saluting  one  another  with  the  great- 
est politeness,  and  with  profound  bows. 

A  brilliant  crowd  of  gentlemen  circulated  around 
[130] 


CINQ-MARS 

them  in  the  gallery.  They  mingled  with  it  to  procure 
friends  for  the  occasion.  All  the  elegance  of  the  cos- 
tumes of  the  day  was  displayed  by  the  court  that 
morning — small  cloaks  of  every  color,  in  velvet  or  in 
satin,  embroidered  with  gold  or  silver;  crosses  of  St. 
Michael  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost;  the  ruffs,  the  sweep- 
ing hat-plumes,  the  gold  shoulder-knots,  the  chains 
by  which  the  long  swords  hung:  all  glittered  and 
sparkled,  yet  not  so  brilliantly  as  did  the  fiery  glances 
of  those  warlike  youths,  or  their  sprightly  conversa- 
tion, or  their  intellectual  laughter.  Amid  the  assembly 
grave  personages  and  great  lords  passed  on,  followed 
by  their  numerous  gentlemen. 

The  little  Abbe  de  Gondi,  who  was  very  short- 
sighted, made  his  way  through  the  crowd,  knitting 
his  brows  and  half  shutting  his  eyes,  that  he  might 
see  the  better,  and  twisting  his  moustache,  for  eccle- 
siastics wore  them  in  those  days.  He  looked  closely 
at  every  one  in  order  to  recognize  his  friends,  and  at 
last  stopped  before  a  young  man,  very  tall  and  dressed 
in  black  from  head  to  foot;  his  sword,  even,  was  of 
quite  dark,  bronzed  steel.  He  was  talking  with  a 
captain  of  the  guards,  when  the  Abbe  de  Gondi  took 
him  aside. 

" Monsieur  de  Thou,"  said  he,  "I  need  you  as  my 
second  in  an  hour,  on  horseback,  with  sword  and 
pistol,  if  you  will  do  me  that  honor." 

"Monsieur,  you  know  I  am  entirely  at  your  ser- 
vice on  all  occasions.  Where  shall  we  meet?" 

11 In  front  of  the  Spanish  bastion,  if  you  please." 

"Pardon  me  for  returning  to  a  conversation  that 
[131] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

greatly  interests  me.     I  will  be  punctual  at  the  rendez 
vous." 

And  De  Thou  quitted  him  to  rejoin  the  Captain. 
He  had  said  all  this  in  the  gentlest  of  voices  with 
unalterable  coolness,  and  even  with  somewhat  of  an 
abstracted  manner. 

The  little  Abbe  squeezed  his  hand  with  warm  satis- 
faction, and  continued  his  search. 

He  did  not  so  easily  effect  an  agreement  with  the 
young  lords  to  whom  he  addressed  himself;  for  they 
knew  him  better  than  did  De  Thou,  and  when  they 
saw  him  coming  they  tried  to  avoid  him,  or  laughed 
at  him  openly,  and  would  not  promise  to  serve  him. 

"Ah,  Abbe!  there  you  are  hunting  again;  I'll  swear 
it's  a  second  you  want,"  said  the  Due  de  Beaufort. 

"And  I  wager,"  added  M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld, 
"that  it's  against  one  of  the  Cardinal-Duke's  people." 

"You  are  both  right,  gentlemen;  but  since  when 
have  you  laughed  at  affairs  of  honor?" 

"The  saints  forbid  I  should,"  said  M.  de  Beaufort. 
"Men  of  the  sword  like  us  ever  reverence  tierce, 
quarte,  and  octave;  but  as  for  the  folds  of  the  cas- 
sock, I  know  nothing  of  them." 

"Pardieu!  Monsieur,  you  know  well  enough  that 
it  does  not  embarrass  my  wrist,  as  I  will  prove  to  him 
who  chooses;  as  to  the  gown  itself,  I  should  like  to 
throw  it  into  the  gutter. " 

"Is  it  to  tear  it  that  you  fight  so  often?"  asked 
La  Rochefoucauld.  "But  remember,  my  dear  Abbe, 
that  you  yourself  are  within  it." 

Gondi  turned  to  look  at  the  clock,  wishing  to  lose 
l«3*l 


CINQ-MARS 

no  more  time  in  such  sorry  jests;  but  he  had  no  bet- 
ter success  elsewhere.  Having  stopped  two  gentle- 
men in  the  service  of  the  young  Queen,  whom  he 
thought  ill-affected  toward  the  Cardinal,  and  con- 
sequently glad  to  measure  weapons  with  his  creatures, 
one  of  them  said  to  him  very  gravely: 

"Monsieur  de  Gondi,  you  know  what  has  just  hap- 
pened; the  King  has  said  aloud,  'Whether  our  im- 
perious Cardinal  wishes  it  or  not,  the  widow  of  Henri 
le  Grand  shall  no  longer  remain  in  exile.'  Imperious! 
the  King  never  before  said  anything  so  strong  as  that, 
Monsieur  1'Abbe,  mark  that.  Imperious!  it  is  open 
disgrace.  Certainly  no  one  will  dare  to  speak  to  him; 
no  doubt  he  will  quit  the  court  this  very  day." 

"I  have  heard  this,  Monsieur,  but  I  have  an 
affair— 

"It  is  lucky  for  you  he  stopped  short  in  the  middle 
of  your  career. " 

"An  affair  of  honor " 

"Whereas  Mazarin  is  quite  a  friend  of  yours." 

"But  will  you,  or  will  you  not,  listen  to  me?" 

"Yes,  a  friend  indeed!  your  adventures  are  always 
uppermost  in  his  thoughts.  Your  fine  duel  with  Mon- 
sieur de  Coutenan  about  the  pretty  little  pin-maker, 
— he  even  spoke  of  it  to  the  King.  Adieu,  my  dear 
Abbe,  we  are  in  great  haste;  adieu,  adieu!"  And, 
taking  his  friend's  arm,  the  young  mocker,  without 
listening  to  another  word,  walked  rapidly  down  the 
gallery  and  disappeared  in  the  throng. 

The  poor  Abbe  was  much  mortified  at  being  able 
to  get  only  one  second,  and  was  watching  sadly  the 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

passing  of  the  hour  and  of  the  crowd,  when  he  per- 
ceived a  young  gentleman  whom  he  did  not  know, 
seated  at  a  table,  leaning  on  his  elbow  with  a  pensive 
air;  he  wore  mourning  which  indicated  no  connection 
with  any  great  house  or  party,  and  appeared  to  await, 
without  any  impatience,  the  time  for  attending  the 
King,  looking  with  a  heedless  air  at  those  who  sur- 
rounded him,  and  seeming  not  to  notice  or  to  know 
any  of  them. 

Gondi  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  accosted  him 
without  hesitation: 

"Monsieur,  I  have  not  the  honor  of  your  acquaint- 
ance, but  a  fencing-party  can  never  be  unpleasant  to 
a  man  of  honor;  and  if  you  will  be  my  second,  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  we  shall  be  on  the  ground.  I  am 
Paul  de  Gondi;  and  I  have  challenged  Monsieur  de 
Launay,  one  of  the  Cardinal's  clique,  but  in  other 
respects  a  very  gallant  fellow." 

The  unknown,  apparently  not  at  all  surprised  at 
this  address,  replied,  without  changing  his  attitude: 
"And  who  are  his  seconds?" 

"Faith,  I  don't  know;  but  what  matters  it  who 
serves  him?  We  stand  no  worse  with  our  friends  for 
having  exchanged  a  thrust  with  them." 

The  stranger  smiled  nonchalantly,  paused  for  an  in- 
stant to  pass  his  hand  through  his  long  chestnut  hair, 
and  then  said,  looking  idly  at  a  large,  round  watch 
which  hung  at  his  waist: 

"Well,  Monsieur,  as  I  have  nothing  better  to  do, 
and  as  I  have  no  friends  here,  I  am  with  you;   it  will 
pass  the  time  as  well  as  anything  else." 
[i34] 


CINQ-MARS 

And,  taking  his  large,  black-plumed  hat  from  the 
table,  he  followed  the  warlike  Abbe,  who  went  quickly 
before  him,  often  running  back  to  hasten  him  on,  like 
a  child  running  before  his  father,  or  a  puppy  that  goes 
backward  and  forward  twenty  times  before  it  gets  to 
the  end  of  a  street. 

Meanwhile,  two  ushers,  attired  in  the  royal  livery, 
opened  the  great  curtains  which  separated  the  gallery 
from  the  King's  tent,  and  silence  reigned.  The  court- 
iers began  to  enter  slowly,  and  in  succession,  the 
temporary  dwelling  of  the  Prince.  He  received  them 
all  gracefully,  and  was  the  first  to  meet  the  view  of 
each  person  introduced. 

Before  a  very  small  table  surrounded  with  gilt  arm- 
chairs stood  Louis  XIII,  encircled  by  the  great  officers 
of  the  crown.  His  dress  was  very  elegant:  a  kind  of 
fawn-colored  vest,  with  open  sleeves,  ornamented  with 
shoulder-knots  and  blue  ribbons,  covered  him  down  to 
the  waist.  Wide  breeches  reached  to  the  knee,  and 
the  yellow-and-red  striped  stuff  of  which  they  were 
made  was  ornamented  below  with  blue  ribbons.  His 
riding-boots,  reaching  hardly  more  than  three  inches 
above  the  ankle,  were  turned  over,  showing  so  lavish 
a  lining  of  lace  that  they  seemed  to  hold  it  as  a  vase 
holds  flowers.  A  small  mantle  of  blue  velvet,  on  which 
was  embroidered  the  cross  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  covered 
the  King's  left  arm,  which  rested  on  the  hilt  of  his 
sword. 

His  head  was  uncovered,  and  his  pale  and  noble 
face  was  distinctly  visible,  lighted  by  the  sun,  which 
penetrated  through  the  top  of  the  tent.  The  small, 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

pointed  beard  then  worn  augmented  the  appearance 
of  thinness  in  his  face,  while  it  added  to  its  melancholy 
expression.  By  his  lofty  brow,  his  classic  profile,  his 
aquiline  nose,  he  was  at  once  recognized  as  a  prince 
of  the  great  race  of  Bourbon.  He  had  all  the  char- 
acteristic traits  of  his  ancestors  except  their  penetrat- 
ing glance;  his  eyes  seemed  red  from  weeping,  and 
veiled  with  a  perpetual  drowsiness;  and  the  weakness  of 
his  vision  gave  him  a  somewhat  vacant  look. 

He  called  around  him,  and  was  attentive  to,  the 
greatest  enemies  of  the  Cardinal,  whom  he  expected 
every  moment;  and,  balancing  himself  with  one  foot 
over  the  other,  an  hereditary  habit  of  his  family,  he 
spoke  quickly,  but  pausing  from  time  to  time  to  make 
a  gracious  inclination  of  the  head,  or  a  gesture  of  the 
hand,  to  those  who  passed  before  him  with  low  rev- 
erences. 

The  court  had  been  thus  paying  its  respects  to  the 
King  for  two  hours  before  the  Cardinal  appeared; 
the  whole  court  stood  in  close  ranks  behind  the  Prince, 
and  in  the  long  galleries  which  extended  from  his 
tent.  Already  longer  intervals  elapsed  between  the 
names  of  the  courtiers  who  were  announced. 

"Shall  we  not  see  our  cousin  the  Cardinal?"  said 
the  King,  turning,  and  looking  at  Montresor,  one  of 
Monsieur's  gentlemen,  as  if  to  encourage  him  to 
answer. 

"He  is  said  to  be  very  ill  just  now,  Sire,"  was  the 
answer. 

"And  yet  I  do  not  see  how  any  but  your  Majesty 
can  cure  him,"  said  the  Due  de  Beaufort. 
[136] 


CINQ-MARS 

"We  cure  nothing  but  the  king's  evil,"  replied  Lou- 
is; "and  the  complaints  of  the  Cardinal  are  always 
so  mysterious  that  we  own  we  can  not  understand 
them." 

The  Prince  thus  essayed  to  brave  his  minister,  gain- 
ing strength  in  jests,  the  better  to  break  his  yoke,  in- 
supportable, but  so  difficult  to  remove.  He  almost 
thought  he  had  succeeded  in  this,  and,  sustained  by 
the  joyous  air  surrounding  him,  he  already  privately 
congratulated  himself  on  having  been  able  to  assume 
the  supreme  empire,  and  for  the  moment  enjoyed  all 
the  power  of  which  he  fancied  himself  possessed.  An 
involuntary  agitation  in  the  depth  of  his  heart  had 
warned  him  indeed  that,  the  hour  passed,  all  the  bur- 
den of  the  State  would  fall  upon  himself  alone ;  but  he 
talked  in  order  to  divert  the  troublesome  thought,  and, 
concealing  from  himself  the  doubt  he  had  of  his  own 
inability  to  reign,  he  set  his  imagination  to  work  upon 
the  result  of  his  enterprises,  thus  forcing  himself  to 
forget  the  tedious  roads  which  had  led  to  them.  Rapid 
phrases  succeeded  one  another  on  his  lips. 

"We  shall  soon  take  Perpignan, "  he  said  to  Fabert, 
who  stood  at  some  distance. 

"Well,  Cardinal,  Lorraine  is  ours,"  he  added  to  La 
Vallette.  Then,  touching  Mazarin's  arm: 

"It  is  not  so  difficult  to  manage  a  State  as  is  sup- 
posed, eh?" 

The  Italian,  who  was  not  so  sure  of  the  Cardinal's 
disgrace  as  most  of  the  courtiers,  answered,  without 
compromising  himself: 

"Ah,  Sire,  the  late  successes  of  your  Majesty  at 
[i37j 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

home  and  abroad  prove  your  sagacity  in  choosing  your 
instruments  and  in  directing  them,  and — 

But  the  Due  de  Beaufort,  interrupting  him  with 
that  self-confidence,  that  loud  voice  and  overbearing 
air,  which  subsequently  procured  him  the  surname  of 
Important,  cried  out,  vehemently: 

"Pardieu!  Sire,  it  needs  only  to  will.  A  nation  is 
driven  like  a  horse,  with  spur  and  bridle;  and  as  we 
are  all  good  horsemen,  ydur  Majesty  has  only  to 
choose  among  us." 

This  fine  sally  had  not  tune  to  take  effect,  for  two 
ushers  cried,  simultaneously,  "His  Eminence!" 

The  King's  face  flushed  involuntarily,  as  if  he  had 
been  surprised  en  flagrant  delit.  But  immediately  gain- 
ing confidence,  he  assumed  an  air  of  resolute  haugh- 
tiness, which  was  not  lost  upon  the  minister. 

The  latter,  attired  in  all  the  pomp  of  a  cardinal, 
leaning  upon  two  young  pages,  and  followed  by  his 
captain  of  the  guards  and  more  than  five  hundred 
gentlemen  attached  to  his  house,  advanced  toward  the 
King  slowly  and  pausing  at  each  step,  as  if  forced  to 
it  by  his  sufferings,  but  in  reality  to  observe  the  faces 
before  him.  A  glance  sufficed. 

His  suite  remained  at  the  entrance  of  the  royal  tent; 
of  all  those  within  it,  not  one  was  bold  enough  to  sa- 
lute him,  or  to  look  toward  him.  Even  La  Vallette 
feigned  to  be  occupied  in  a  conversation  with  Mon- 
tresor;  and  the  King,  who  desired  to  give  him  an  un- 
favorable reception,  greeted  him  lightly  and  continued 
a  private  conversation  in  a  low  voice  with  the  Due  de 
Beaufort. 

[138] 


CINQ-MARS 

The  Cardinal  was  therefore  forced,  after  the  first 
salute,  to  stop  and  pass  to  the  side  of  the  crowd  of 
courtiers,  as  if  he  wished  to  mingle  with  them,  but  in 
reality  to  test  them  more  closely;  they  all  recoiled  as 
at  the  sight  of  a  leper.  Fabert  alone  advanced  toward 
him  with  the  frank,  brusque  air  habitual  with  him, 
and,  making  use  of  the  terms  belonging  to  his  pro- 
fession, said: 

"Well,  my  lord,  you  make  a  breach  in  the  midst  of 
them  like  a  cannon-ball;  I  ask  pardon  in  their  name." 

"And  you  stand  firm  before  me  as  before  the 
enemy,"  said  the  Cardinal;  "you  will  have  no  cause 
to  regret  it  in  the  end,  my  dear  Fabert." 

Mazarin  also  approached  the  Cardinal,  but  with 
caution,  and,  giving  to  his  mobile  features  an  expres- 
sion of  profound  sadness,  made  him  five  or  six  very 
low  bows,  turning  his  back  to  the  group  gathered 
around  the  King,  so  that  in  the  latter  quarter  they 
might  be  taken  for  those  cold  and  hasty  salutations 
which  are  made  to  a  person  one  desires  to  be  rid  of, 
and,  on  the  part  of  the  Duke,  for  tokens  of  respect, 
blended  with  a  discreet  and  silent  sorrow. 

The  minister,  ever  calm,  smiled  disdainfully;  and, 
assuming  that  firm  look  and  that  air  of  grandeur  which 
he  always  wore  in  the  hour  of  danger,  he  again  leaned 
upon  his  pages,  and,  without  waiting  for  a  word  or 
a  glance  from  his  sovereign,  he  suddenly  resolved  up- 
on his  line  of  conduct,  and  walked  directly  toward 
him,  traversing  the  whole  length  of  the  tent.  No  one 
had  lost  sight  of  him,  although  all  affected  not  to 
observe  him.  Every  one  now  became  silent,  even 
[i39] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

those  who  were  conversing  with  the  King.     All  the 
courtiers  bent  forward  to  see  and  to  hear. 

Louis  XIII  turned  toward  him  in  astonishment, 
and,  all  presence  of  mind  totally  failing  him,  remained 
motionless  and  waited  with  an  icy  glance — his  sole 
force,  but  a  force  very  effectual  in  a  prince. 

The  Cardinal,  on  coming  close  to  the  monarch,  did 
not  bow;  and,  without  changing  his  attitude,  with  his 
eyes  lowered  and  his  hands  placed  on  the  shoulders 
of  the  two  boys  half  bending,  he  said: 

"Sire,  I  come  to  implore  your  Majesty  at  length  to 
grant  me  the  retirement  for  which  I  have  long  sighed. 
My  health  is  failing;  I  feel  that  my  life  will  soon  be 
ended.  Eternity  approaches  me,  and  before  render- 
ing an  account  to  the  eternal  King,  I  would  render 
one  to  my  earthly  sovereign.  It  is  eighteen  years, 
Sire,  since  you  placed  in  my  hands  a  weak  and  divided 
kingdom;  I  return  it  to  you  united  and  powerful. 
Your  enemies  are  overthrown  and  humiliated.  My 
work  is  accomplished.  I  ask  your  Majesty's  permis- 
sion to  retire  to  Citeaux,  of  which  I  am  abbot,  and 
where  I  may  end  my  days  in  prayer  and  medita- 
tion." 

The  King,  irritated  by  some  haughty  expressions  in 
this  address,  showed  none  of  the  signs  of  weakness 
which  the  Cardinal  had  expected,  and  which  he  had 
always  seen  in  him  when  he  had  threatened  to  resign 
the  management  of  affairs.  On  the  contrary,  feeling 
that  he  had  the  eyes  of  the  whole  court  upon  him, 
Louis  looked  upon  him  with  the  air  of  a  king,  and 
coldly  replied: 

[140] 


CINQ-MARS 

"We  thank  you,  then,  for  your  services,  Monsieur 
le  Cardinal,  and  wish  you  the  repose  you  desire." 

Richelieu  was  deeply  moved,  but  no  indication  of 
his  anger  appeared  upon  his  countenance.  "Such 
was  the  coldness  with  which  you  left  Montmorency  to 
die,"  he  said  to  himself;  "but  you  shall  not  escape 
me  thus."  He  then  continued  aloud,  bowing  at  the 
same  time: 

"The  only  recompense  I  ask  for  my  services  is  that 
your  Majesty  will  deign  to  accept  from  me,  as  a  gift, 
the  Palais-Cardinal  I  have  erected  at  my  own  expense 
in  Paris." 

The  King,  astonished,  bowed  his  assent.  A  mur- 
mur of  surprise  for  a  moment  agitated  the  attentive 
court. 

"I  also  throw  myself  at  your  Majesty's  feet,  to  beg 
that  you  will  grant  me  the  revocation  of  an  act  of 
rigor,  which  I  solicited  (I  publicly  confess  it),  and 
which  I  perhaps  regarded  too  hastily  beneficial  to  the 
repose  of  the  State.  Yes,  when  I  was  of  this  world, 
I  was  too  forgetful  of  my  early  sentiments  of  personal 
respect  and  attachment,  in  my  eagerness  for  the  pub- 
lic welfare ;  but  now  that  I  already  enjoy  the  enlighten- 
ment of  solitude,  I  see  that  I  have  done  wrong,  and  I 
repent." 

The  attention  of  the  spectators  was  redoubled,  and 
the  uneasiness  of  the  King  became  visible. 

"Yes,  there  is  one  person,  Sire,  whom  I  have  al- 
ways loved,  despite  her  wrong  toward  you,  and  the 
banishment  which  the  affairs  of  the  kingdom  forced  me 
to  bring  about  for  her;  a  person  to  whom  I  have 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

owed  much,  and  who  should  be  very  dear  to  you, 
no  withstanding  her  armed  attempts  against  you;  a 
person,  in  a  word,  whom  I  implore  you  to  recall 
from  exile — the  Queen  Marie  de  Medicis,  your 
mother!" 

The  King  uttered  an  involuntary  exclamation,  so 
little  did  he  expect  to  hear  that  name.  A  repressed 
agitation  suddenly  appeared  upon  every  face.  All 
waited  in  silence  the  King's  reply.  Louis  XIII  looked 
for  a  long  time  at  his  old  minister  without  speaking, 
and  this  look  decided  the  fate  of  France;  in  that  in- 
stant he  called  to  mind  all  the  indefatigable  services 
of  Richelieu,  his  unbounded  devotion,  his  wonderful 
capacity,  and  was  surprised  at  himself  for  having 
wished  to  part  with  him.  He  felt  deeply  affected  at 
this  request,  which  had  probed  for  the  exact  cause  of 
his  anger  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  and  uprooted  it, 
thus  taking  from  his  hands  the  only  weapon  he  had 
against  his  old  servant.  Filial  love  brought  words  of 
pardon  to  his  lips  and  tears  into  his  eyes.  Rejoicing  to 
grant  what  he  desired  most  of  all  things  in  the  world, 
he  extended  his  hands  to  the  Duke  with  all  the  no- 
bleness and  kindliness  of  a  Bourbon.  The  Cardinal 
bowed  and  respectfully  kissed  it ;  and  his  heart,  which 
should  have  burst  with  remorse,  only  swelled  in  the 
joy  of  a  haughty  triumph. 

The  King,  deeply  touched;  abandoning  his  hand  to 
him,  turned  gracefully  toward  his  court  and  said,  with 
a  trembling  voice: 

"We  often  deceive  ourselves,  gentlemen,  and  espe- 
cially in  our  knowledge  of  so  great  a  politician  as  this. 
[142] 


CINQ-MARS 

I  hope  he  will  never  leave  us,  since  his  heart  is  as 
good  as  his  head." 

Cardinal  de  la  Vallette  instantly  seized  the  sleeve 
of  the  King's  mantle,  and  kissed  it  with  all  the  ardor 
of  a  lover,  and  the  young  Mazarin  did  much  the  same 
with  Richelieu  himself,  assuming,  with  admirable 
Italian  suppleness,  an  expression  radiant  with  joy  and 
tenderness.  Two  streams  of  flatterers  hastened,  one 
toward  the  King,  the  other  toward  the  minister;  the 
former  group,  not  less  adroit  than  the  second,  although 
less  direct,  addressed  to  the  Prince  thanks  which  could 
be  heard  by  the  minister,  and  burned  at  the  feet  of 
the  one  incense  which  was  intended  for  the  other. 
As  for  Richelieu,  bowing  and  smiling  to  right  and 
left,  he  stepped  forward  and  stood  at  the  right  hand 
of  the  King  as  his  natural  place.  A  stranger  entering 
would  rather  have  thought,  indeed,  that  it  was  the, 
King  who  was  on  the  Cardinal's  left  hand.  The 
Marechal  d'Estrees,  all  the  ambassadors,  the  Due 
d'Angouleme,  the  Due  d'Halluin  (Schomberg),  the 
Marechal  de  Chatillon,  and  all  the  great  officers  of 
the  crown  surrounded  him,  each  waiting  impatiently 
for  the  compliments  of  the  others  to  be  finished,  in 
order  to  pay  his  own,  fearing  lest  some  one  else  should 
anticipate  him  with  the  flattering  epigram  he  had 
just  improvised,  or  the  phrase  of  adulation  he  was 
inventing. 

As  for  Fabert,  he  had  retired  to  a  corner  of  the  tent, 
and  seemed  to  have  paid  no  particular  attention  to  the 
scene.  He  was  chatting  with  Montre"sor  and  the 
gentlemen  of  Monsieur,  all  sworn  enemies  of  the  Car- 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

dinal,  because,  out  of  the  throng  he  avoided,  he  had 
found  none  but  these  to  speak  to.  This  conduct  would 
have  seemed  extremely  tactless  in  one  less  known; 
but  although  he  lived  in  the  midst  of  the  court,  he  was 
ever  ignorant  of  its  intrigues.  It  was  said  of  him 
that  he  returned  from  a  battle  he  had  gained,  like  the 
King's  hunting-horse,  leaving  the  dogs  to  caress  their 
master  and  divide  the  quarry,  without  seeking  even 
to  remember  the  part  he  had  had  in  the  triumph. 

The  storm,  then,  seemed  entirely  appeased,  and  to 
the  violent  agitations  of  the  morning  succeeded  a 
gentle  calm.  A  respectful  murmur,  varied  with  pleas- 
ant laughter  and  protestations  of  attachment,  was  all 
that  was  heard  in  the  tent.  The  voice  of  the  Car- 
dinal arose  from  time  to  time:  "The  poor  Queen! 
We  shall,  then,  soon  again  see  her!  I  never  had  dared 
to  hope  for  such  happiness  while  I  lived!"  The  King 
listened  to  him  with  full  confidence,  a'nd  made  no 
attempt  to  conceal  his  satisfaction.  "It  was  assuredly 
an  idea  sent  to  him  from  on  high,"  he  said;  "this 
good  Cardinal,  against  whom  they  had  so  incensed 
me,  was  thinking  only  of  the  union  of  my  family. 
Since  the  birth  of  the  Dauphin  I  have  not  tasted  greater 
joy  than  at  this  moment.  The  protection  of  the  Holy 
Virgin  is  manifested  over  our  kingdom." 

At  this  moment,  a  captain  of  the  guards  came  up 
and  whispered  in  the  King's  ear. 

"A  courier  from  Cologne?"  said  the  King;  "let 
him  wait  in  my  cabinet." 

Then,  unable  to  restrain  his  impatience,  "I  will  go! 
I  will  go!"  he  said,  and  entered  alone  a  small,  square 
[i44] 


CINQ-MARS 

tent  attached  to  the  larger  one.  In  it  he  saw  a  young 
courier  holding  a  black  portfolio,  and  the  curtains 
closed  upon  the  King. 

The  Cardinal,  left  sole  master  of  the  court,  concen- 
trated all  its  homage;  but  it  was  observed  that  he  no 
longer  received  it  with  his  former  presence  of  mind. 
He  inquired  frequently  what  time  it  was,  and  exhibited 
an  anxiety  which  was  not  assumed;  his  hard,  unquiet 
glances  turned  toward  the  smaller  tent.  It  suddenly 
opened;  the  King  appeared  alone,  and  stopped  on 
the  threshold.  He  was  paler  than  usual,  and  trem- 
bled in  every  limb;  he  held  in  his  hand  a  large  letter 
with  five  black  seals. 

" Gentlemen,"  said  he,  in  a  loud  but  broken  voice, 
"the  Queen  has  just  died  at  Cologne;  and  I  perhaps 
am  not  the  first  to  hear  of  it,"  he  added,  casting  a 
severe  look  toward  the  impassible  Cardinal,  "but  God 
knows  all!  To  horse  in  an  hour,  and  attack  the 
lines!  Marechals,  follow  me."  And  he  turned  his 
back  abruptly,  and  reentered  his  cabinet  with  them. 

The  court  retired  after  the  minister,  who,  without 
giving  any  sign  of  sorrow  or  annoyance,  went  forth 
as  gravely  as  he  had  entered,  but  now  a  victor. 


10 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   SIEGE 

II  papa,  alzato  le  mani  e  fattomi  un  patente  crocione  supra 
la  mia  figura,  mi  disse,  che  mi  benediva  e  che  mi  perdonava  tutti 
gli  omicidii  che  io  avevo  mai  fatti,  et  tutti  quelli  che  mai  io  farei 
in  servizio  della  Chiesa  apostolica. — BENVENUTO  CELLINI. 

^HERE  are  moments  in  our  life  when 
we  long  ardently  for  strong  excite- 
ment to  drown  our  petty  griefs — 
times  when  the  soul,  like  the  lion  in 
the  fable,  wearied  with  the  continual 
attacks  of  the  gnat,  earnestly  desires 
a  mightier  enemy  and  real  danger. 
Cinq-Mars  found  himself  in  this  con- 
dition of  mind,  which  always  results  from  a  morbid 
sensibility  in  the  organic  constitution  and  a  perpetual 
agitation  of  the  heart.  Weary  of  continually  turning 
over  in  his  mind  a  combination  of  the  events  which 
he  desired,  and  of  those  which  he  dreaded;  weary  of 
calculating  his  chances  to  the  best  of  his  power;  of 
summoning  to  his  assistance  all  that  his  education  had 
taught  him  concerning  the  lives  of  illustrious  men,  in 
order  to  compare  it  with  his  present  situation;  op- 
pressed by  his  regrets,  his  dreams,  predictions,  fancies, 
and  all  that  imaginary  world  in  which  he  had  lived  dur- 
ing his  solitary  journey— he  breathed  freely  upon  find- 
[146! 


CINQ-MARS 

ing  himself  thrown  into  a  real  world  almost  as  full  of 
agitation;  and  the  realizing  of  two  actual  dangers 
restored  circulation  to  his  blood,  and  youth  to  his 
whole  being. 

Since  the  nocturnal  scene  at  the  inn  near  Loudun, 
he  had  not  been  able  to  resume  sufficient  empire  over 
his  mind  to  occupy  himself  with  anything  save  his 
cherished  though  sad  reflections;  and  consumption 
was  already  threatening  him,  when  happily  he  arrived 
at  the  camp  of  Perpignan,  and  happily  also  had  the 
opportunity  of  accepting  the  proposition  of  the  Abbe 
de  Gondi — for  the  reader  has  no  doubt  recognized 
Cinq-Mars  in  the  person  of  that  young  stranger  in 
mourning,  so  careless  and  so  melancholy,  whom  the 
duellist  in  the  cassock  invited  to  be  his  second. 

He  had  ordered  his  tent  to  be  pitched  as  a  volunteer 
in  the  street  of  the  camp  assigned  to  the  young  noble- 
men who  were  to  be  presented  to  the  King  and  were 
to  serve  as  aides-de-camp  to  the  Generals;  he  soon 
repaired  thither,  and  was  quickly  armed,  horsed,  and 
cuirassed,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  time,  and 
set  out  alone  for  the  Spanish  bastion,  the  place  of 
rendezvous.  He  was  the  first  arrival,  and  found  that 
a  small  plot  of  turf,  hidden  among  the  works  of  the 
besieged  place,  had  been  well  chosen  by  the  little 
Abbe  for  his  homicidal  purposes;  for  besides  the 
probability  that  no  one  would  have  suspected  officers 
of  engaging  in  a  duel  immediately  beneath  the  town 
which  they  were  attacking,  the  body  of  the  bastion 
separated  them  from  the  French  camp,  and  would 
conceal  them  like  an  immense  screen.  It  was  wise 
[i47] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

to  take  these  precautions,  for  at  that  time  it  cost  a 
man  his  head  to  give  himself  the  satisfaction  of  risking 
his  body. 

While  waiting  for  his  friends  and  his  adversaries, 
Cinq-Mars  had  time  to  examine  the  southern  side  of 
Perpignan,  before  which  he  stood.  He  had  heard 
that  these  works  were  not  those  which  were  to  be 
attacked,  and  he  tried  in  vain  to  account  for  the  be- 
sieger's projects.  Between  this  southern  face  of  the 
town,  the  mountains  of  Albere,  and  the  Col  du  Per- 
thus,  there  might  have  been  advantageous  lines  of 
attack,  and  redoubts  against  the  accessible  point; 
but  not  a  single  soldier  was  stationed  there.  All  the 
forces  seemed  directed  upon  the  north  of  Perpignan, 
upon  the  most  difficult  side,  against  a  brick  fort  called 
the  Castillet,  which  surmounted  the  gate  of  Notre- 
Dame.  He  discovered  that  a  piece  of  ground,  ap- 
parently marshy,  but  in  reality  very  solid,  led  up  to  the 
very  foot  of  the  Spanish  bastion;  that  this  post  was 
guarded  with  true  Castilian  negligence,  although  its 
sole  strength  lay  entirely  in  its  defenders;  for  its  bat- 
tlements, almost  in  ruin,  were  furnished  with  four 
pieces  of  cannon  of  enormous  calibre,  embedded  in 
the  turf,  and  thus  rendered  immovable,  and  impossible 
to  be  directed  against  a  troop  advancing  rapidly  to  the 
foot  of  the  wall. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  these  enormous  pieces  had 
discouraged  the  besiegers  from  attacking  this  point, 
and  had  kept  the  besieged  from  any  idea  of  addition 
to  its  means  of  defence.  Thus,  on  the  one  side,  the 
vedettes  and  advanced  posts  were  at  a  distance,  and 
[148] 


CINQ-MARS 

on  the  other,  the  sentinels  were  few  and  ill  supported. 
A  young  Spaniard,  carrying  a  long  gun,  with  its  rest 
suspended  at  his  side  and  the  burning  match  in  his 
right  hand,  who  was  walking  with  nonchalance  upon 
the  rampart,  stopped  to  look  at  Cinq-Mars,  who  was 
riding  about  the  ditches  and  moats. 

"Senor  caballero,"  he  cried,  "are  you  going  to  take 
the  bastion  by  yourself  on  horseback,  like  Don  Qui- 
xote— Quixada  de  la  Mancha?" 

At  the  same  time  he  detached  from  his  side  the 
iron  rest,  planted  it  in  the  ground,  and  supported  upon 
it  the  barrel  of  his  gun  in  order  to  take  aim,  when  a 
grave  and  older  Spaniard,  enveloped  in  a  dirty  brown 
cloak,  said  to  him  in  his  own  tongue: 

"Ambrosio  de  demonio,  do  you  not  know  that  it  is 
forbidden  to  throw  away  powder  uselessly,  before 
sallies  or  attacks  are  made,  merely  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  killing  a  boy  not  worth  your  match  ?  It  was  in  this 
very  place  that  Charles  the  Fifth  threw  the  sleeping 
sentinel  into  the  ditch  and  drowned  him.  Do  your 
duty,  or  I  shall  follow  his  example." 

Ambrosio  replaced  the  gun  upon  his  shoulder,  the 
rest  at  his  side,  and  continued  his  walk  upon  the  ram- 
part. 

Cinq-Mars  had  been  little  alarmed  at  this  menacing 
gesture,  contenting  himself  with  tightening  the  reins 
of  his  horse  and  bringing  the  spurs  close  to  his  sides, 
knowing  that  with  a  single  leap  of  the  nimble  animal 
he  should  be  carried  behind  the  wall  of  a  hut  which 
stood  near  by,  and  should  thus  be  sheltered  from  the 
Spanish  fusil  before  the  operation  of  the  fork  and 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

match  could  be  completed.  He  knew,  too,  that  a 
tacit  convention  between  the  two  armies  prohibited 
marksmen  from  firing  upon  the  sentinels;  each  party 
would  have  regarded  it  as  assassination.  The  soldier 
who  had  thus  prepared  to  attack  Cinq-Mars  must 
have  been  ignorant  of  this  understanding.  Young 
D'Effiat,  therefore,  made  no  visible  movement;  and 
when  the  sentinel  had  resumed  his  walk  upon  the 
rampart,  he  again  betook  himself  to  his  ride  upon  the 
turf,  and  presently  saw  five  cavaliers  directing  their 
course  toward  him.  The  first  two,  who  came  on  at 
full  gallop,  did  not  salute  him,  but,  stopping  close  to 
him,  leaped  to  the  ground,  and  he  found  himself  in 
the  arms  of  the  Counsellor  de  Thou,  who  embraced 
him  tenderly,  while  the  little  Abbe  de  Gondi,  laughing 
heartily,  cried: 

"Behold  another  Orestes  recovering  his  Pylades, 
and  at  the  moment  of  immolating  a  rascal  who  is  not 
of  the  family  of  the  King  of  kings,  I  assure  you." 

"What!  is  it  you,  my  dear  Cinq-Mars?"  cried  De 
Thou;  "and  I  knew  not  of  your  arrival  in  the  camp! 
Yes,  it  is  indeed  you;  I  recognize  you,  although  you 
are  very  pale.  Have  you  been  ill,  my  dear  friend? 
I  have  often  written  to  you;  for  my  boyish  friendship 
has  always  remained  in  my  heart." 

"And  I,"  answered  Henri  d'Effiat,  "I  have  been 
very  culpable  toward  you;  but  I  will  relate  to  you  all 
the  causes  of  my  neglect.  I  can  speak  of  them,  but 
I  was  ashamed  to  write  them.  But  how  good  you 
are!  Your  friendship  has  never  relaxed." 

"I  knew  you  too  well,"  replied  De  Thou;  "I  knew 
[150] 


CINQ-MARS 

that  there  could  be  no  real  coldness  between  us,  and 
that  my  soul  had  its  echo  in  yours." 

With  these  words  they  embraced  once  more,  their 
eyes  moist  with  those  sweet  tears  which  so  seldom 
flow  in  one's  life,  but  with  which  it  seems,  nevertheless, 
the  heart  is  always  charged,  so  much  relief  do  they 
give  in  flowing. 

This  moment  was  short ;  and  during  these  few  words, 
Gondi  had  been  pulling  them  by  their  cloaks,  saying: 

"To  horse!  to  horse,  gentlemen!  Pardieu!  you  will 
have  time  enough  to  embrace,  if  you  are  so  affection- 
ate; but  do  not  delay.  Let  our  first  thought  be  to 
have  done  with  our  good  friends  who  will  soon  arrive. 
We  are  in  a  fine  position,  with  those  three  villains 
there  before  us,  the  archers  close  by,  and  the  Spaniards 
up  yonder!  We  shall  be  under  three  fires." 

He  was  still  speaking,  when  De  Launay,  finding 
himself  at  about  sixty  paces  from  his  opponents,  with 
his  seconds,  who  were  chosen  from  his  own  friends 
rather  than  from  among  the  partisans  of  the  Cardinal, 
put  his  horse  to  a  canter,  advanced  gracefully  toward 
his  young  adversaries,  and  gravely  saluted  them. 

"Gentlemen,  I  think  that  we  shall  do  well  to  select 
our  men,  and  to  take  the  field;  for  there  is  talk  of 
attacking  the  lines,  and  I  must  be  at  my  post." 

"We  are  ready,  Monsieur,"  said  Cinq-Mars;  "and 
as  for  selecting  opponents,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
become  yours,  for  I  have  not  forgotten  the  Marechal 
de  Bassompierre  and  the  wood  of  Chaumont.  You 
know  my  opinion  concerning  your  insolent  visit  to 
my  mother." 

[151] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"You  are  very  young,  Monsieur.  In  regard  to 
Madame,  your  mother,  I  fulfilled  the  duties  of  a  man 
of  the  world;  toward  the  Marechal,  those  of  a  captain 
of  the  guard;  here,  those  of  a  gentleman  toward  Mon- 
sieur 1'Abbe*,  who  has  challenged  me;  afterward  I 
shall  have  that  honor  with  you." 

"If  I  permit  you,"  said  the  Abbe,  who  was  already 
on  horseback. 

They  took  sixty  paces  of  ground— all  that  was 
afforded  them  by  the  extent  of  the  meadow  that  en- 
closed them.  The  Abbe"  de  Gondi  was  stationed 
between  De  Thou  and  his  friend,  who  sat  nearest 
the  ramparts,  upon  which  two  Spanish  officers  and 
a  score  of  soldiers  stood,  as  in  a  balcony,  to  wit- 
ness this  duel  of  six  persons — a  spectacle  common 
enough  to  them.  They  showed  the  same  signs  of  joy 
as  at  their  bull-fights,  and  laughed  with  that  savage 
and  bitter  laugh  which  their  temperament  derives 
from  their  admixture  of  Arab  blood. 

At  a  sign  from  Gondi,  the  six  horses  set  off  at  full 
gallop,  and  met,  without  coming  in  contact,  in  the 
middle  of  the  arena;  at  that  instant,  six  pistol-shots 
were  heard  almost  together,  and  the  smoke  covered 
the  combatants. 

When  it  dispersed,  of  the  six  cavaliers  and  six  horses 
but  three  men  and  three  animals  were  on  their  legs. 
Cinq-Mars  was  on  horseback,  giving  his  hand  to  his 
adversary,  as  calm  as  himself;  at  the  other  end  of 
the  field,  De  Thou  stood  by  his  opponent,  whose  horse 
he  had  killed,  and  whom  he  was  helping  to  rise.  As 
for  Gondi  and  De  Launay,  neither  was  to  be  seen. 


CINQ-MARS 

Cinq-Mars,  looking  about  for  them  anxiously,  per- 
ceived the  Abbe's  horse,  which,  caracoling  and  cur- 
vetting, was  dragging  after  him  the  future  cardinal, 
whose  foot  was  caught  in  the  stirrup,  and  who  was 
swearing  as  if  he  had  never  studied  anything  but  the 
language  of  the  camp.  His  nose  and  hands  were 
stained  and  bloody  with  his  fall  and  with  his  efforts 
to  seize  the  grass;  and  he  was  regarding  with  con- 
siderable dissatisfaction  his  horse,  which  in  spite  of 
himself  he  irritated  with  his  spurs,  making  its  way  to 
the  trench,  filled  with  water,  which  surrounded  the 
bastion,  when,  happily,  Cinq-Mars,  passing  between 
the  edge  of  the  swamp  and  the  animal,  seized  its  bridle 
and  stopped  its  career. 

"Well,  my  dear  Abbe,  I  see  that  no  great  harm 
has  come  to  you,  for  you  speak  with  decided  energy." 

"Corbleu  /"  cried  Gondi,  wiping  the  dust  out  of  his 
eyes,  "to  fire  a  pistol  in  the  face  of  that  giant  I  had 
to  lean  forward  and  rise  in  my  stirrups,  and  thus  I 
lost  my  balance;  but  I  fancy  that  he  is  down,  too." 

"You  are  right,  sir,"  said  De  Thou,  coming  up; 
"there  is  his  horse  swimming  in  the  ditch  with  its 
master,  whose  brains  are  blown  out.  We  must  think 
now  of  escaping," 

" Escaping!  That,  gentlemen,  will  be  rather  difficult, " 
said  the  adversary  of  Cinq-Mars,  approaching.  "Hark! 
there  is  the  cannon-shot,  the  signal  for  the  attack. 
I  did  not  expect  it  would  have  been  given  so  soon. 
If  we  return  we  shall  meet  the  Swiss  and  the  foot- 
soldiers,  who  are  marching  in  this  direction." 

"Monsieur  de  Fontrailles  says  well,"  said  De  Thou; 
[i53] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"but  if  we  do  not  return,  here  are  these  Spaniards, 
who  are  running  to  arms,  and  whose  balls  we  shall 
presently  have  whistling  about  our  heads." 

"Well,  let  us  hold  a  council,"  said  Gondi;  "sum- 
mon Monsieur  de  Montresor,  who  is  uselessly  occupied 
in  searching  for  the  body  of  poor  De  Launay.  You 
have  not  wounded  him,  Monsieur  De  Thou?" 

"No,  Monsieur  1'Abbe;  not  every  one  has  so  good 
an  aim  as  you,"  said  Montresor,  bitterly,  limping  from 
his  fall.  "We  shall  not  have  time  to  continue  with 
the  sword." 

"As  to  continuing,  I  will  not  consent  to  it,  gentle- 
men," said  Fontrailles;  "Monsieur  de  Cinq-Mars 
has  behaved  too  nobly  toward  me.  My  pistol  went 
off  too  soon,  and  his  was  at  my  very  cheek — I  feel 
the  coldness  of  it  now — but  he  had  the  generosity  to 
withdraw  it  and  fire  in  the  air.  I  shall  not  forget 
it;  and  I  am  his  in  life  and  in  death." 

"We  must  think  of  other  things  now,"  interrupted 
Cinq-Mars;  "a  ball  has  just  whistled  past  my  ear. 
The  attack  has  begun  on  all  sides;  and  we  are  sur- 
rounded by  friends  and  by  enemies." 

In  fact,  the  cannonading  was  general;  the  citadel, 
the  town,  and  the  army  were  covered  with  smoke. 
The  bastion  before  them  as  yet  was  unassailed,  and 
its  guards  seemed  less  eager  to  defend  it  than  to  ob- 
serve the  fate  of  the  other  fortifications. 

"I  believe  that  the  enemy  has  made  a  sally,"  said 
Montresor,  "for  the  smoke  has  cleared  from  the  plain, 
and  I  see  masses  of  cavalry  charging  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  battery." 

[i54] 


CINQ-MARS 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Cinq-Mars,  who  had  not  ceased 
to  observe  the  walls,  "there  is  a  very  decided  part 
which  we  could  take,  an  important  share  in  this — 
we  might  enter  this  ill-guarded  bastion." 

"An  excellent  idea,  Monsieur,"  said  Fontrailles; 
"but  we  are  but  five  against  at  least  thirty,  and  are 
in  plain  sight  and  easily  counted." 

"Faith,  the  idea  is  not  bad,"  said  Gondi;  "it  is 
better  to  be  shot  up  there  than  hanged  down  here,  as 
we  shall  be  if  we  are  found,  for  De  Launay  must  be 
already  missed  by  his  company,  and  all  the  court 
knows  of  our  quarrel." 

"Parbleu!  gentlemen,"  said  Montresor,  "help  is 
coming  to  us." 

A  numerous  troop  of  horse,  in  great  disorder,  ad- 
vanced toward  them  at  full  gallop;  their  red  uniform 
made  them  visible  from  afar.  It  seemed  to  be  their 
intention  to  halt  on  the  very  ground  on  which  were 
our  embarrassed  duellists,  for  hardly  had  the  first 
cavalier  reached  it  when  cries  of  "Halt!"  were  re- 
peated and  prolonged  by  the  voices  of  the  chiefs  who 
were  mingled  with  their  cavaliers. 

"Let  us  go  to  them;  these  are  the  men-at-arms  of 
the  King's  guard,"  said  Fontrailles.  "I  recognize 
them  by  their  black  cockades.  I  see  also  many  of 
the  light-horse  with  them;  let  us  mingle  in  the  disorder, 
for  I  fancy  they  are  ramenes." 

This  is  a  polite  phrase  signifying  in  military  lan- 
guage "put  to  rout."  All  five  advanced  toward  the 
noisy  and  animated  troops,  and  found  that  this  con- 
jecture was  right.  But  instead  of  the  consternation 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

which  one  might  expect  in  such  a  case,  they  found 
nothing  but  a  youthful  and  rattling  gayety,  and  heard 
only  bursts  of  laughter  from  the  two  companies. 

"Ah,  pardieu  !  Cahuzac,"  said  one,  "your  horse 
runs  better  than  mine;  I  suppose  you  have  exercised 
it  in  the  King's  hunts!" 

"Ah,  I  see,  'twas  that  we  might  be  the  sooner  rallied 
that  you  arrived  here  first,"  answered  the  other. 

"I  think  the  Marquis  de  Coislin  must  be  mad,  to 
make  four  hundred  of  us  charge  eight  Spanish  regi- 
ments." 

"Ha!  ha!  Locmaria,  your  plume  is  a  fine  ornament; 
it  looks  like  a  weeping  willow.  If  we  follow  that,  it 
will  be  to  our  burial." 

"Gentlemen,  I  said  to  you  before,"  angrily  replied 
the  young  officer,  "that  I  was  sure  that  Capuchin 
Joseph,  who  meddles  in  everything,  was  mistaken  in 
telling  us  to  charge,  upon  the  part  of  the  Cardinal. 
But  would  you  have  been  satisfied  if  those  who  have 
the  honor  of  commanding  you  had  refused  to  charge?" 

"No,  no,  no!"  answered  all  the  young  men,  at  the 
same  time  forming  themselves  quickly  into  ranks. 

"I  said,"  interposed  the  old  Marquis  de  Coislin, 
who,  despite  his  white  head,  had  all  the  fire  of  youth 
in  his  eyes,  "that  if  you  were  commanded  to  mount 
to  the  assault  on  horseback,  you  would  do  it." 

"Bravo!  bravo!"  cried  all  the  men-at-arms,  clap- 
ping their  hands. 

"Well,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  said  Cinq-Mars,  ap- 
proaching, "here  is  an  opportunity  to  execute  what 
you  have  promised.  I  am  only  a  volunteer;  but  an 


CINQ-MARS 

instant  ago  these  gentlemen  and  I  examined  this  bas- 
tion, and  I  believe  that  it  is  possible  to  take  it." 

"Monsieur,  we  must  first  examine  the  ditch  to 
see " 

At  this  moment  a  ball  from  the  rampart  of  which 
they  were  speaking  struck  in  the  head  the  horse  of 
the  old  captain,  laying  it  low. 

"Locmaria,  De  Mouy,  take  the  command,  and  to 
the  assault!"  cried  the  two  noble  companies,  believing 
their  leader  dead. 

"Stop  a  moment,  gentlemen,"  said  old  Coislin, 
rising,  "I  will  lead  you,  if  you  please.  Guide  us, 
Monsieur  volunteer,  for  the  Spaniards  invite  us  to 
this  ball,  and  we  must  reply  politely." 

Hardly  had  the  old  man  mounted  another  horse, 
which  one  of  his  men  brought  him,  and  drawn  his 
sword,  when,  without  awaiting  his  order,  all  these 
ardent  youths,  preceded  by  Cinq-Mars  and  his  friends, 
whose  horses  were  urged  on  by  the  squadrons  behind, 
had  thrown  themselves  into  the  morass,  wherein,  to 
their  great  astonishment  and  to  that  of  the  Spaniards, 
who  had  counted  too  much  upon  its  depth,  the  horses 
were  in  the  water  only  up  to  their  hams;  and  in  spite 
of  a  discharge  of  grape-shot  from  the  two  largest 
pieces,  all  reached  pell-mell  a  strip  of  land  at  the  foot 
of  the  half-ruined  ramparts.  In  the  ardor  of  the  rush, 
Cinq-Mars  and  Fontrailles,  with  the  young  Locmaria, 
forced  their  horses  upon  the  rampart  itself;  but  a 
brisk  fusillade  killed  the  three  animals,  which  rolled 
over  their  masters. 

"Dismount  all,  gentlemen!"  cried  old  Coislin; 
[i57] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"forward  with  pistol  and  sword!  Abandon  your 
horses!" 

All  obeyed  instantly,  and  threw  themselves  in  a 
mass  upon  the  breach. 

Meantime,  De  Thou,  whose  coolness  never  quitted 
him  any  more  than  his  friendship,  had  not  lost  sight 
of  the  young  Henri,  and  had  received  him  in  his  arms 
when  his  horse  fell.  He  helped  him  to  rise,  restored  to 
him  his  sword,  which  he  had  dropped,  and  said  to  him, 
with  the  greatest  calmness,  notwithstanding  the  balls 
which  rained  on  all  sides: 

"My  friend,  do  I  not  appear  very  ridiculous  amid 
all  this  skirmish,  in  my  costume  of  Counsellor  in  Par- 
liament?" 

"Parbleu!"  said  Montresor,  advancing,  "here's  the 
Abbe,  who  quite  justifies  you." 

And,  in  fact,  little  Gondi,  pushing  on  among  the 
light  horsemen,  was  shouting,  at  the  top  of  his  voice: 
"Three  duels  and  an  assault.  I  hope  to  get  rid  of 
my  cassock  at  last!" 

Saying  this,  he  cut  and  thrust  at  a  tall  Spaniard. 

The  defence  was  not  long.  The  Castilian  soldiers 
were  no  match  for  the  French  officers,  and  not  one  of 
them  had  time  or  courage  to  recharge  his  carbine. 

"Gentlemen,  we  will  relate  this  to  our  mistresses 
in  Paris,"  said  Locmaria,  throwing  his  hat  into  the 
air;  and  Cinq-Mars,  De  Thou,  Coislin,  De  Mouy, 
Londigny,  officers  of  the  red  companies,  and  all  the 
young  noblemen,  with  swords  in  their  right  hands  and 
pistols  in  their  left,  dashing,  pushing,  and  doing  each 
other  by  their  eagerness  as  much  harm  as  they  did 


CINQ-MARS 

the  enemy,  finally  rushed  upon  the  platform  of  the 
bastion,  as  water  poured  from  a  vase,  of  which  the 
opening  is  too  small,  leaps  out  in  interrupted  gushes. 

Disdaining  to  occupy  themselves  with  the  van- 
quished soldiers,  who  cast  themselves  at  their  feet, 
they  left  them  to  look  about  the  fort,  without  even  dis- 
arming them,  and  began  to  examine  their  conquest, 
like  schoolboys  in  vacation,  laughing  with  all  their 
hearts,  as  if  they  were  at  a  pleasure-party. 

A  Spanish  officer,  enveloped  in  his  brown  cloak, 
watched  them  with  a  sombre  air. 

"What  demons  are  these,  Ambrosio?"  said  he  to 
a  soldier.  "I  never  have  met  with  any  such  before 
in  France.  If  Louis  XIII  has  an  entire  army  thus 
composed,  it  is  very  good  of  him  not  to  conquer  all 
Europe." 

"Oh,  I  do  not  believe  they  are  very  numerous; 
they  must  be  some  poor  adventurers,  who  have  noth- 
ing to  lose  and  all  to  gain  by  pillage." 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  officer;  "I  will  try  to  per- 
suade one  of  them  to  let  me  escape." 

And  slowly  approaching,  he  accosted  a  young  light- 
horseman,  of  about  eighteen,  who  was  sitting  apart 
from  his  comrades  upon  the  parapet.  He  had  the 
pink-and-white  complexion  of  a  young  girl;  his  del- 
icate hand  held  an  embroidered  handkerchief,  with 
which  he  wiped  his  forehead  and  his  golden  locks 
He  was  consulting  a  large,  round  watch  set  with  rubies, 
suspended  from  his  girdle  by  a  knot  of  ribbons. 

The  astonished  Spaniard  paused.  Had  he  not  seen 
this  youth  overthrow  his  soldiers,  he  would  not  have 
[i59] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

believed  him  capable  of  anything  beyond  singing  a 
romance,  reclined  upon  a  couch.  But,  filled  with 
the  suggestion  of  Ambrosio,  he  thought  that  he  might 
have  stolen  these  objects  of  luxury  in  the  pillage  of 
the  apartments  of  a  woman;  so,  going  abruptly  up  to 
him,  he  said: 

"H ombre!  I  am  an  officer;  will  you  restore  me  to 
liberty,  that  I  may  once  more  see  my  country?" 

The  young  Frenchman  looked  at  him  with  the  gen- 
tle expression  of  his  age,  and,  thinking  of  his  own 
family,  he  said: 

"Monsieur,  I  will  present  you  to  the  Marquis  de 
Coislin,  who  will,  I  doubt  not,  grant  your  request; 
is  your  family  of  Castile  or  of  Aragon?" 

"Your  Coislin  will  ask  the  permission  of  somebody 
else,  and  will  make  me  wait  a  year.  I  will  give  you 
four  thousand  ducats  if  you  will  let  me  escape." 

That  gentle  face,  those  girlish  features,  became  in- 
fused with  the  purple  of  fury;  those  blue  eyes  shot 
forth  lightning;  and,  exclamining,  "Money  to  me! 
away,  fool!"  the  young  man  gave  the  Spaniard  a 
ringing  box  on  the  ear.  The  latter,  without  hesitating, 
drew  a  long  poniard  from  his  breast,  and,  seizing  the 
arm  of  the  Frenchman,  thought  to  plunge  it  easily  into 
his  heart;  but,  nimble  and  vigorous,  the  youth  caught 
him  by  the  right  arm,  and,  lifting  it  with  force  above 
his  head,  sent  it  back  with  the  weapon  it  held  upon  the 
head  of  the  Spaniard,  who  was  furious  with  rage. 

"Eh!  eh!  Softly,  Olivier!"  cried  his  comrades,  run- 
ning from  all  directions;  "there  are  Spaniards  enough 
on  the  ground  already." 

[160] 


CINQ-MARS 

And  they  disarmed  the  hostile  officer. 

"What  shall  we  do  with  this  lunatic?"  said  one. 

"I  should  not  like  to  have  him  for  my  valet-de- 
chambre,"  returned  another. 

"He  deserves  to  be  hanged,"  said  a  third;  "but, 
faith,  gentlemen,  we  don't  know  how  to  hang.  Let  us 
send  him  to  that  battalion  of  Swiss  which  is  now  pass- 
ing across  the  plain." 

And  the  calm  and  sombre  Spaniard,  enveloping 
himself  anew  in  his  cloak,  began  the  march  of  his  own 
accord,  followed  by  Ambrosio,  to  join  the  battalion, 
pushed  by  the  shoulders  and  urged  on  by  five  or  six 
of  these  young  madcaps. 

Meantime,  the  first  troop  of  the  besiegers,  astonished 
at  their  success,  had  followed  it  out  to  the  end;  Cinq- 
Mars,  so  advised  by  the  aged  Coislin,  had  made  with 
him  the  circuit  of  the  bastion,  and  found  to  their  vex- 
ation that  it  was  completely  separated  from  the  city, 
and  that  they  could  not  follow  up  their  advantage. 
They,  therefore,  returned  slowly  to  the  platform,  talk- 
ing by  the  way,  to  rejoin  De  Thou  and  the  Abbe  de 
Gondi,  whom  they  found  laughing  with  the  young 
light-horsemen. 

"We  have  Religion  and  Justice  with  us,  gentlemen; 
we  could  not  fail  to  triumph." 

"No  doubt,  for  they  fought  as  hard  as  we." 

There  was  silence  at  the  approach  of  Cinq-Mars, 
and  they  remained  for  an  instant  whispering  and  ask- 
ing his  name;  then  all  surrounded  him,  and  took  his 
hand  with  delight. 

"Gentlemen,  you  are  right,"  said  their  old  captain; 
ii  [161] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"he  is,  as  our  fathers  used  to  say,  the  best  doer  oj  the 
day.  He  is  a  volunteer,  who  is  to  be  presented  to- 
day to  the  King  by  the  Cardinal." 

"By  the  Cardinal!  We  will  present  him  ourselves. 
Ah,  do  not  let  him  be  a  Cardinalist;  he  is  too  good  a 
fellow  for  that!"  exclaimed  all  the  young  men,  with 
vivacity. 

"Monsieur,  I  will  undertake  to  disgust  you  with 
him,"  said  Olivier  d'Entraigues,  approaching  Cinq- 
Mars,  "for  I  have  been  his  page.  Rather  serve  in  the 
red  companies;  come,  you  will  have  good  comrades 
there." 

The  old  Marquis  saved  Cinq-Mars  the  embarrass- 
ment of  replying,  by  ordering  the  trumpets  to  sound 
and  rally  his  brilliant  companies.  The  cannon  was 
no  longer  heard,  and  a  soldier  announced  that  the 
King  and  the  Cardinal  were  traversing  the  lines  to 
examine  the  results  of  the  day.  He  made  all  the 
horses  pass  through  the  breach,  which  was  tolerably 
wide,  and  ranged  the  two  companies  of  cavalry  in 
battle  array,  upon  a  spot  where  it  seemed  impossible 
that  any  but  infantry  could  penetrate. 


[162] 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   RECOMPENSE 

Ah!  comme  du  butin  ces  guerriers  trop  jaloux 
Courent  bride  abattue  au-devant  des  mes  coups, 
Agitez  tous  leurs  sens  d'une  rage  insensde, 
Tambour,  fifre,  trompette,  otez-leur  la  pense'e. 

N.  LEMERCIER,  Panhypocrisiade. 

'ARDINAL  RICHELIEU  had  said  to 

himself,  "To  soften  the  first  parox- 
ysm of  the  royal  grief,  to  open  a 
source  of  emotions  which  shall  turn 
from  its  sorrow  this  wavering  soul,  let 
this  city  be  besieged;  I  consent.  Let 
Louis  go;  I  will  allow  him  to  strike 
a  few  poor  soldiers  with  the  blows 
which  he  wishes,  but  dares  not,  to  inflict  upon  me.  Let 
his  anger  drown  itself  in  this  obscure  blood;  I  agree. 
But  this  caprice  of  glory  shall  not  derange  my  fixed 
designs;  this  city  shallnot  fall  yet.  It  shall  not  be- 
come French  forever  until  two  years  have  past;  it 
shall  come  into  my  nets  only  on  the  day  upon  which 
I  have  fixed  in  my  own  mind.  Thunder,  bombs,  and 
cannons;  meditate  upon  your  operations,  skilful  cap- 
tains; hasten,  young  warriors.  I  shall  silence  your 
noise,  I  shall  dissipate  your  projects,  and  make  your 
efforts  abortive;  all  shall  end  in  vain  smoke,  for  I  shall 
conduct  in  order  to  mislead  you." 
[163] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

This  is  the  substance  of  what  passed  in  the  bald 
head  of  the  Cardinal  before  the  attack  of  which  we 
have  witnessed  a  part.  He  was  stationed  on  horse- 
back, upon  one  of  the  mountains  of  Salces,  north  of 
the  city;  from  this  point  he  could  see  the  plain  of 
Roussillon  before  him,  sloping  to  the  Mediterranean. 
Perpignan,  with  its  ramparts  of  brick,  its  bastions,  its 
citadel,  and  its  spire,  formed  upon  this  plain  an  oval 
and  sombre  mass  on  its  broad  and  verdant  meadows; 
the  vast  mountains  surrounded  it,  and  the  valley,  like 
an  enormous  bow  curved  from  north  to  south,  while, 
stretching  its  white  line  in  the  east,  the  sea  looked 
like  its  silver  cord.  On  his  right  rose  that  immense 
mountain  called  the  Canigou,  whose  sides  send  forth 
two  rivers  into  the  plain  below.  The  French  line 
extended  to  the  foot  of  this  western  barrier.  A  crowd 
of  generals  and  of  great  lords  were  on  horseback  be- 
hind the  minister,  but  at  twenty  paces'  distance  and 
profoundly  silent. 

Cardinal  Richelieu  had  at  first  followed  slowly  the 
line  of  operations,  but  had  later  returned  and  stationed 
himself  upon  this  height,  whence  his  eye  and  his 
thought  hovered  over  the  destinies  of  besiegers  and 
besieged.  The  whole  army  had  its  eyes  upon  him, 
and  could  see  him  from  every  point.  All  looked  upon 
him  as  their  immediate  chief,  and  awaited  his  gesture 
before  they  acted.  France  had  bent  beneath  his  yoke 
a  long  time;  and  admiration  of  him  shielded  all  his 
actions  to  which  another  would  have  been  often  sub- 
jected. At  this  moment,  for  instance,  no  one  thought 
of  smiling,  or  even  of  feeling  surprised,  that  the  cuirass 
[164] 


CINQ-MARS 

should  clothe  the  priest;  and  the  severity  of  his  char- 
acter and  aspect  suppressed  every  thought  of  ironical 
comparisons  or  injurious  conjectures.  This  day  the 
Cardinal  appeared  in  a  costume  entirely  martial:  he 
wore  a  reddish-brown  coat,  embroidered  with  gold, 
a  water-colored  cuirass,  a  sword  at  his  side,  pistols 
at  his  saddle-bow,  and  he  had  a  plumed  hat;  but  this 
he  seldom  put  on  his  head,  which  was  still  covered 
with  the  red  cap.  Two  pages  were  behind  him;  one 
carried  his  gauntlets,  the  other  his  casque,  and  the 
captain  of  his  guards  was  at  his  side. 

As  the  King  had  recently  named  him  generalissimo 
of  his  troops,  it  was  to  him  that  the  generals  sent  for 
their  orders;  but  he,  knowing  only  too  well  the  secret 
motives  of  his  master's  present  anger,  affected  to 
refer  to  that  Prince  all  who  sought  a  decision  from 
his  own  mouth.  It  happened  as  he  had  foreseen; 
for  he  regulated  and  calculated  the  movements  of 
that  heart  as  those  of  a  watch,  and  could  have  told 
with  precision  through  what  sensations  it  had  passed. 
Louis  XIII  came  and  placed  himself  at  his  side;  but 
he  came  as  a  pupil,  forced  to  acknowledge  that  his 
master  is  in  the  right.  His  air  was  haughty  and  dis- 
satisfied, his  language  brusque  and  dry.  The  Car- 
dinal remained  impassible.  It  was  remarked  that  the 
King,  in  consulting  him,  employed  the  words  of  com- 
mand, thus  reconciling  his  weakness  and  his  power  of 
place,  his  irresolution  and  his  pride,  his  ignorance 
and  his  pretensions,  while  his  minister  dictated  laws 
to  him  in  a  tone  of  the  most  profound  obedience. 

"I  will  have  them  attack  immediately,  Cardinal," 
[165] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

said  the  Prince  on  coming  up;  "that  is  to  say,"  he 
added,  with  a  careless  air,  "when  all  your  preparations 
are  made,  and  you  have  fixed  upon  the  hour  with  our 
generals. " 

"Sire,  if  I  might  venture  to  express  my  judgment, 
I  should  be  glad  did  your  Majesty  think  proper  to 
begin  the  attack  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  for  that  will 
give  time  enough  to  advance  the  third  line." 

"Yes,  yes;  you  are  right,  Monsieur  le  Cardinal!  I 
think  so,  too.  I  will  go  and  give  my  orders  myself; 
I  wish  to  do  everything  myself.  Schomberg,  Schom- 
berg!  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  wish  to  hear  the  sig- 
nal-gun; I  command  it." 

And  Schomberg,  taking  the  command  of  the  right 
wing,  gave  the  order,  and  the  signal  was  made. 

The  batteries,  arranged  long  since  by  the  Marechal 
de  la  Meilleraie,  began  to  batter  a  breach,  but  slowly, 
because  the  artillerymen  felt  that  they  had  been 
directed  to  attack  two  impregnable  points;  and  be- 
cause, with  their  experience,  and  above  all  with  the 
common  sense  and  quick  perception  of  French  soldiers, 
any  one  of  them  could  at  once  have  indicated  the  point 
against  which  the  attack  should  have  been  directed. 
The  King  was  surprised  at  the  slowness  of  the  firing. 

"La  Meilleraie,"  said  he,  impatiently,  "these  bat- 
teries do  not  play  well;  your  cannoneers  are  asleep." 

The  principal  artillery  officers  were  present  as  well 
as  the  Marechal;  but  no  one  answered  a  syllable. 
They  had  looked  toward  the  Cardinal,  who  remained 
as  immovable  as  an  equestrian  statue,  and  they  imi- 
tated his  example.  The  answer  must  have  been  that 
[i66j 


CINQ-MARS 

the  fault  was  not  with  the  soldiers,  but  with  him  who 
had  ordered  this  false  disposition  of  the  batteries; 
and  this  was  Richelieu  himself,  who,  pretending  to 
believe  them  more  useful  in  that  position,  had  stopped 
the  remarks  of  the  chiefs. 

The  King,  astonished  at  this  silence,  and,  fearing 
that  he  had  committed  some  gross  military  blunder 
by  his  question,  blushed  slightly,  and,  approaching 
the  group  of  princes  who  had  accompanied  him,  said, 
in  order  to  reassure  himself: 

"D'Angouleme,  Beaufort,  this  is  very  tiresome,  is 
it  not?  We  stand  here  like  mummies." 

Charles  de  Valois  drew  near  and  said: 

"It  seems  to  me,  Sire,  that  they  are  not  employing 
here  the  machines  of  the  engineer  Pompee-Targon. " 

"Parbleu!"  said  the  Due  de  Beaufort,  regarding 
Richelieu  fixedly,  "that  is  because  we  were  more 
eager  to  take  Rochelle  than  Perpignan  at  the  time 
that  Italian  came.  Here  we  have  not  an  engine  ready, 
not  a  mine,  not  a  petard  beneath  these  walls;  and  the 
Marechal  de  la  Meilleraie  told  me  this  morning  that 
he  had  proposed  to  bring  some  with  which  to  open 
the  breach.  It  was  neither  the  Castillet,  nor  the  six 
great  bastions  which  surround  it,  nor  the  half-moon, 
we  should  have  attacked.  If  we  go  on  in  this  way, 
the  great  stone  arm  of  the  citadel  will  show  us  its  fist 
a  long  time  yet." 

The  Cardinal,  still  motionless,  said  not  a  single  word ; 
he  only  made  a  sign  to  Fabert,  who  left  the  group  in 
attendance,  and  ranged  his  horse  behind  that  of  Riche- 
lieu, close  to  the  captain  of  his  guards, 
[167] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

The  Due  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  drawing  near  the 
King,  said: 

"I  believe,  Sire,  that  our  inactivity  makes  the 
enemy  insolent,  for  look!  here  is  a  numerous  sally, 
directing  itself  straight  toward  your  Majesty;  and  the 
regiments  of  Biron  and  De  Fonts  fall  back  after  firing. " 

"Well!"  said  the  King,  drawing  his  sword,  "let  us 
charge  and  force  those  villains  back  again.  Bring 
on  the  cavalry  with  me,  D'Angoule'me.  Where  is  it, 
Cardinal?" 

"Behind  that  hill,  Sire,  there  are  in  column  six 
regiments  of  dragoons,  and  the  carabineers  of  La 
Roque;  below  you  are  my  men-at-arms  and  my  light 
horse,  whom  I  pray  your  Majesty  to  employ,  for  those 
of  your  Majesty's  guard  are  ill  guided  by  the  Marquis 
de  Coislin,  who  is  ever  too  zealous.  Joseph,  go  tell 
him  to  return." 

He  whispered  to  the  Capuchin,  who  had  accom- 
panied him,  huddled  up  in  military  attire,  which  he 
wore  awkwardly,  and  who  immediately  advanced  in- 
to the  plain. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  compact  columns  of  the  old 
Spanish  infantry  issued  from  the  gate  of  Notre-Dame 
like  a  dark  and  moving  forest,  while  from  another 
gate  proceeded  the  heavy  cavalry,  which  drew  up  on 
the  plain.  The  French  army,  in  battle  array  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill  where  the  King  stood,  behind  fortifi- 
cations of  earth,  behind  redoubts  and  fascines  of  turf, 
perceived  with  alarm  the  men-at-arms  and  the  light 
horse  pressed  between  these  two  forces,  ten  times  their 
superior  in  numbers. 

[168] 


CINQ-MARS 

"Sound  the  charge!"  cried  Louis  XIII;  "or  my  old 
Coislin  is  lost." 

And  he  descended  the  hill,  with  all  his  suite  as 
ardent  as  himself;  but  before  he  reached  the  plain 
and  was  at  the  head  of  his  musketeers,  the  two  com- 
panies had  taken  their  course,  dashing  off  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning,  and  to  the  cry  of  "Vive  le  Roi!" 
They  fell  upon  the  long  column  of  the  enemy's  cavalry 
like  two  vultures  upon  a  serpent;  and,  making  a  large 
and  bloody  gap,  they  passed  beyond,  and  rallied  be- 
hind the  Spanish  bastion,  leaving  the  enemy's  cavalry 
so  astonished  that  they  thought  only  of  re-forming 
their  own  ranks,  and  not  of  pursuing. 

The  French  army  uttered  a  burst  of  applause;  the 
King  paused  in  amazement.  He  looked  around  him, 
and  saw  a  burning  desire  for  attack  in  all  eyes;  the 
valor  of  his  race  shone  in  his  own.  He  paused  yet 
another  instant  in  suspense,  listening,  intoxicated,  to 
the  roar  of  the  cannon,  inhaling  the  odor  of  the  pow- 
der; he  seemed  to  receive  another  life,  and  to  become 
once  more  a  Bourbon.  All  who  looked  on  him  felt  as 
if  they  were  commanded  by  another  man,  when,  raising 
his  sword  and  his  eyes  toward  the  sun,  he  cried : 

"Follow  me,  brave  friends!  here  I  am  King  of 
France!" 

His  cavalry,  deploying,  dashed  off  with  an  ardor 
which  devoured  space,  and,  raising  billows  of  dust 
from  the  ground,  which  trembled  beneath  them,  they 
were  in  an  instant  mingled  with  the  Spanish  cavalry, 
and  both  were  swallowed  up  in  an  immense  and 
fluctuating  cloud. 

[169] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"Now!  now!"  cried  the  Cardinal,  in  a  voice  of 
thunder,  from  his  elevation,  "now  remove  the  guns 
from  their  useless  position!  Fabert,  give  your  orders; 
let  them  be  all  directed  upon  the  infantry  which 
slowly  approaches  to  surround  the  King.  Haste!  save 
the  King!" 

Immediately  the  Cardinal's  suite,  until  then  sitting 
erect  as  so  many  statues,  were  in  motion.  The  generals 
gave  their  orders;  the  aides-de-camp  galloped  off  into 
the  plain,  where,  leaping  over  the  ditches,  barriers, 
and  palisades,  they  arrived  at  their  destination  as  soon 
as  the  thought  that  directed  them  and  the  glance  that 
followed  them. 

Suddenly  the  few  and  interrupted  flashes  which  had 
shone  from  the  discouraged  batteries  became  a  con- 
tinual and  immense  flame,  leaving  no  room  for  the 
smoke,  which  rose  to  the  sky  in  an  infinite  number 
of  light  and  floating  wreaths;  the  volleys  of  cannon, 
which  had  seemed  like  far  and  feeble  echoes,  changed 
into  a  formidable  thunder  whose  roll  was  as  rapid  as 
that  of  drums  beating  the  charge;  while  from  three 
opposite  points  large  red  flashes  from  fiery  mouths 
fell  upon  the  dark  columns  which  issued  from  the  be- 
sieged city. 

Meantime,  without  changing  his  position,  but  with 
ardent  eyes  and  imperative  gestures,  Richelieu  ceased 
not  to  multiply  his  orders,  casting  upon  those  who 
received  them  a  look  which  implied  a  sentence  of 
death  if  he  was  not  instantly  obeyed. 

"The  King  has  overthrown  the  cavalry;  but  the 
foot  still  resist.  Our  batteries  have  only  killed,  they 
[170] 


CINQ-MARS 

have  not  conquered.  Forward  with  three  regiments 
of  infantry  instantly,  Gassion,  La  Meilleraie,  and 
Lesdiguieres!  Take  the  enemy's  columns  in  flank. 
Order  the  rest  of  the  army  to  cease  from  the  attack, 
and  to  remain  motionless  throughout  the  whole  line. 
Bring  paper!  I  will  write  myself  to  Schomberg." 

A  page  alighted  and  advanced,  holding  a  pencil  and 
paper.  The  minister,  supported  by  four  men  of  his 
suite,  also  alighted,  but  with  difficulty,  uttering  a  cry, 
wrested  from  him  by  pain;  but  he  conquered  it  by  an 
effort,  and  seated  himself  upon  the  carriage  of  a  can- 
non. The  page  presented  his  shoulder  as  a  desk; 
and  the  Cardinal  hastily  penned  that  order  which  con- 
temporary manuscripts  have  transmitted  to  us,  and 
which  might  well  be  imitated  by  the  diplomatists  of 
our  day,  who  are,  it  seems,  more  desirous  to  maintain 
themselves  in  perfect  balance  between  two  ideas  than 
to  seek  those  combinations  which  decide  the  destinies 
of  the  world,  regarding  the  clear  and  obvious  dictates 
of  true  genius  as  beneath  their  profound  subtlety. 

"M.  le  Marechal,  do  not  risk  anything,  and  reflect  before 
you  attack.  When  you  are  thus  told  that  the  King  desires  you 
not  to  risk  anything,  you  are  not  to  understand  that  his  Majesty 
forbids  you  to  fight  at  all;  but  his  intention  is  that  you  do  not 
engage  in  a  general  battle  unless  it  be  with  a  notable  hope  of 
gain  from  the  advantage  which  a  favorable  situation  may  pre- 
sent, the  responsibility  of  the  battle  naturally  falling  upon  you. " 

These  orders  given,   the  old  minister,  still  seated 

upon   the   gun-carriage,    his   arms   resting   upon   the 

touch-hole,  and  his  chin  upon  his  arms,  in  the  attitude 

of  one  who  adjusts  and  points  a  cannon,  continued  in 

[171] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

silence  to  watch  the  battle,  like  an  old  wolf,  which, 
sated  with  victims  and  torpid  with  age,  contemplates 
in  the  plain  the  ravages  of  a  lion  among  a  herd  of 
cattle,  which  he  himself  dares  not  attack.  From  time 
to  time  his  eye  brightens;  the  smell  of  blood  rejoices 
him,  and  he  laps  his  burning  tongue  over  his  toothless 
jaw. 

On  that  day,  it  was  remarked  by  his  servants — or, 
in  other  words,  by  all  surrounding  him — that  from 
the  time  of  his  rising  until  night  he  took  no  nourish- 
ment, and  so  fixed  all  the  application  of  his  soul  on 
the  events  which  he  had  to  conduct  that  he  triumphed 
over  his  physical  pains,  seeming,  by  forgetting,  to  have 
destroyed  them.  It  was  this  power  of  attention,  this 
continual  presence  of  mind,  that  raised  him  almost 
to  genius.  He  would  have  attained  it  quite,  had  he 
not  lacked  native  elevation  of  soul  and  generous  sen- 
sibility of  heart. 

Everything  happened  upon  the  field  of  battle  as  he 
had  wished,  fortune  attending  him  there  as  well  as  in 
the  cabinet.  Louis  XIII  claimed  with  eager  hand 
the  victory  which  his  minister  had  procured  for  him; 
he  had  contributed  himself,  however,  only  that  grand- 
eur which  consists  in  personal  valor. 

The  cannon  had  ceased  to  roar  when  the  broken 
columns  of  infantry  fell  back  into  Perpignan;  the 
remainder  had  met  the  same  fate,  was  already  within 
the  walls,  and  on  the  plain  no  living  man  was  to  be 
seen,  save  the  glittering  squadrons  of  the  King,  who 
followed  him,  forming  ranks  as  they  went. 

He  returned  at  a  slow  walk,  and  contemplated  with 
[172] 


CINQ-MARS 

satisfaction  the  battlefield  swept  clear  of  enemies;  he 
passed  haughtily  under  the  very  fire  of  the  Spanish 
guns,  which,  whether  from  lack  of  skill,  or  by  a  secret 
agreement  with  the  Prime  Minister,  or  from  very 
shame  to  kill  a  king  of  France,  only  sent  after  him  a 
few  balls,  which,  passing  two  feet  above  his  head, 
fell  in  front  of  the  lines,  and  merely  served  to  increase 
the  royal  reputation  for  courage. 

At  every  step,  however,  that  he  took  toward  the 
spot  where  Richelieu  awaited  him,  the  King's  coun- 
tenance changed  and  visibly  fell;  he  lost  all  the  flush 
of  combat;  the  noble  sweat  of  triumph  dried  upon 
his  brow.  As  he  approached,  his  usual  pallor  returned 
to  his  face,  as  if  having  the  right  to  sit  alone  on  a 
royal  head;  his  look  lost  its  fleeting  fire,  and  at  last, 
when  he  joined  the  Cardinal,  a  profound  melancholy 
entirely  possessed  him.  He  found  the  minister  as  he 
had  left  him,  on  horseback;  the  latter,  still  coldly  re- 
spectful, bowed,  and  after  a  few  words  of  compliment, 
placed  himself  near  Louis  to  traverse  the  lines  and 
examine  the  results  of  the  day,  while  the  princes  and 
great  lords,  riding  at  some  distance  before  and  behind, 
formed  a  crowd  around  them. 

The  wily  minister  was  careful  not  to  say  a  word  or  to 
make  a  gesture  that  could  suggest  the  idea  that  he  had 
had  the  slightest  share  in  the  events  of  the  day;  and 
it  was  remarkable  that  of  all  those  who  came  to  hand 
in  their  reports,  there  was  not  one  who  did  not  seem 
to  divine  his  thoughts,  and  exercise  care  not  to  com- 
promise his  occult  power  by  open  obedience.  All 
reports  were  made  to  the  King.  The  Cardinal  then 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

traversed,  by  the  side  of  the  Prince,  the  right  of  the 
camp,  which  had  not  been  under  his  view  from  the 
height  where  he  had  remained;  and  he  saw  with  sat- 
isfaction that  Schomberg,  who  knew  him  well,  had 
acted  precisely  as  his  master  had  directed,  bringing 
into  action  only  a  few  of  the  light  troops,  and  fighting 
just  enough  not  to  incur  reproach  for  inaction,  and 
not  enough  to  obtain  any  distinct  result.  This  line 
of  conduct  charmed  the  minister,  and  did  not  dis- 
please the  King,  whose  vanity  cherished  the  idea  of 
having  been  the  sole  conqueror  that  day.  He  even 
wished  to  persuade  himself,  and  to  have  it  supposed, 
that  all  the  efforts  of  Schomberg  had  been  fruitless, 
saying  to  him  that  he  was  not  angry  with  him,  that 
he  had  himself  just  had  proof  that  the  enemy  before 
him  was  less  despicable  than  had  been  supposed. 

"To  show  you  that  you  have  lost  nothing  in  our 
estimation,"  he  added,  "we  name  you  a  knight  of  our 
order,  and  we  give  you  public  and  private  access  to 
our  person." 

The  Cardinal  affectionately  pressed  his  hand  as  he 
passed  him,  and  the  Marechal,  astonished  at  this 
deluge  of  favors,  followed  the  Prince  with  his  bent 
head,  like  a  culprit,  recalling,  to  console  himself,  all 
the  brilliant  actions  of  his  career  which  had  remained 
unnoticed,  and  mentally  attributing  to  them  these  un- 
merited rewards  to  reconcile  them  to  his  conscience. 

The  King  was  about  to  retrace  his  steps,  when  the 
Due  de  Beaufort,  with  an  astonished  air,  exclaimed: 

"But,  Sire,  have  I  still  the  powder  in  my  eyes,  or 
have  I  been  sun-struck?  It  appears  to  me  that  I 
[i74] 


CINQ-MARS 

see  upon  yonder  bastion  several  cavaliers  in  red  uni- 
forms who  greatly  resemble  your  light  horse  whom  we 
thought  to  be  killed." 

The  Cardinal  knitted  his  brows. 

" Impossible,  Monsieur,"  he  said;  "the  imprudence 
of  Monsieur  de  Coislin  has  destroyed  his  Majesty's 
men-at-arms  and  those  cavaliers.  It  is  for  that  reason 
I  ventured  just  now  to  say  to  the  King  that  if  the  use- 
less corps  were  suppressed,  it  might  be  very  advan- 
tageous from  a  military  point  of  view." 

"Pardieul  your  Eminence  will  pardon  me,"  an- 
swered the  Due  de  Beaufort;  "but  I  do  not  deceive 
myself,  and  there  are  seven  or  eight  of  them  driving 
prisoners  before  them." 

"Well!  let  us  go  to  the  point,"  said  the  King;  "if 
I  find  my  old  Coislin  there  I  shall  be  very  glad." 

With  great  caution,  the  horses  of  the  King  and  his 
suite  passed  across  the  marsh,  and  with  infinite  as- 
tonishment their  riders  saw  on  the  ramparts  the  two 
red  companies  in  battle  array  as  on  parade. 

"Vive  Dieu!"  cried  Louis;  "I  think  that  not  one 
of  them  is  missing!  Well,  Marquis,  you  keep  your 
word — you  take  walls  on  horseback." 

"In  my  opinion,  this  point  was  ill  chosen,"  said 
Richelieu,  with  disdain;  "it  in  no  way  advances  the 
taking  of  Perpignan,  and  must  have  cost  many  lives." 

"Faith,  you  are  right,"  said  the  King,  for  the  first 
time  since  the  intelligence  of  the  Queen's  death  ad- 
dressing the  Cardinal  without  dryness;  "I  regret  the 
blood  which  must  have  been  spilled  here." 

"Only  two  of  own  young  men  have  been  wounded 
[i75] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

in  the  attack,  Sire,"  said  old  Coislin;  "and  we  have 
gained  new  companions-in-arms,  in  the  volunteers 
who  guided  us. " 

"Who  are  they?"  said  the  Prince. 

"Three  of  them  have  modestly  retired,  Sire;  but 
the  youngest,  whom  you  see,  was  the  first  who  pro- 
posed the  assault,  and  the  first  to  venture  his  person 
in  making  it.  The  two  companies  claim  the  honor 
of  presenting  him  to  your  Majesty." 

Cinq-Mars,  who  was  on  horseback  behind  the  old 
captain,  took  off  his  hat  and  showed  his  pale  face, 
his  large,  dark  eyes,  and  his  long,  chestnut  hair. 

"Those  features  remind  me  of  some  one,"  said  the 
King;  "what  say  you,  Cardinal?" 

The  latter,  who  had  already  cast  a  penetrating 
glance  at  the  newcomer,  replied: 

"Unless  I  am  mistaken,  this  young  man  is ' 

"Henri  d'Efnat,"  said  the  volunteer,  bowing. 

"Sire,  it  is  the  same  whom  I  had  announced  to  your 
Majesty,  and  who  was  to  have  been  presented  to  you 
by  me;  the  second  son  of  the  Marechal." 

"Ah!"  said  Louis,  warmly,  "I  am  glad  to  see  the 
son  of  my  old  friend  presented  by  this  bastion.  It 
is  a  suitable  introduction,  my  boy,  for  one  bearing 
your  name.  You  will  follow  us  to  the  camp,  where 
we  have  much  to  say  to  you.  But  what!  you  here, 
Monsieur  de  Thou  ?  Whom  have  you  come  to  judge  ?  " 

"Sire,"  answered  Coislin,  "he  has  condemned  to 
death,  without  judging,  sundry  Spaniards,  for  he  was 
the  second  to  enter  the  place." 

"I  struck  no  one,  Monsieur,"  interrupted  De  Thou, 
[176] 


CINQ-MARS 

reddening.;  "  it  is  not  my  business.  Herein  I  have  no 
merit;  I  merely  accompanied  my  friend,  Monsieur  de 
Cinq-Mars." 

"We  approve  your  modesty  as  well  as  your  bravery, 
and  we  shall  not  forget  this.  Cardinal,  is  there  not 
some  presidency  vacant?" 

Richelieu  did  not  like  De  Thou.  And  as  the  sources 
of  his  dislike  were  always  mysterious,  it  was  difficult 
to  guess  the  cause  of  this  animosity;  it  revealed  itself 
in  a  cruel  word  that  escaped  him.  The  motive  was 
a  passage  in  the  history  of  the  President  De  Thou — 
the  father  of  the  young  man  now  in  question — where- 
in he  stigmatized,  in  the  eyes  of  posterity,  a  grand- 
uncle  of  the  Cardinal,  an  apostate  monk,  sullied  with 
every  human  vice. 

Richelieu,  bending  to  Joseph's  ear,  whispered: 

"You  see  that  man;  his  father  put  my  name  into 
his  history.  Well,  I  will  put  his  into  mine."  And, 
truly  enough,  he  subsequently  wrote  it  in  blood.  At 
this  moment,  to  avoid  answering  the  King,  he  feigned 
not  to  have  heard  his  question,  and  to  be  wholly  in- 
tent upon  the  merit  of  Cinq-Mars  and  the  desire  to 
see  him  well  placed  at  court. 

"I  promised  you  beforehand  to  make  him  a  cap- 
tain in  my  guards,"  said  the  Prince;  "let  him  be 
nominated  to-morrow.  I  would  know  more  of  him, 
and  raise  him  to  a  higher  fortune,  if  he  pleases  me. 
Let  us  now  retire;  the  sun  has  set,  and  we  are  far 
from  our  army.  Tell  my  two  good  companies  to  fol- 
low us." 

The  minister,  after  repeating  the  order,  omitting  the 
12  [177] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

implied  praise,  placed  himself  on  the  King's  right 
hand,  and  the  whole  court  quitted  the  bastion,  now 
confided  to  the  care  of  the  Swiss,  and  returned  to  the 
camp. 

The  two  red  companies  defiled  slowly  through  the 
breach  which  they  had  effected  with  such  promptitude ; 
their  countenances  were  grave  and  silent. 

Cinq-Mars  went  up  to  his  friend. 

"These  are  heroes  but  ill  recompensed,"  said  he; 
"not  a  favor,  not  a  compliment." 

"I,  on  the  other  hand,"  said  the  simple  De  Thou 
— "I,  who  came  here  against  my  will — receive  one. 
Such  are  courts,  such  is  life;  but  above  us  is  the  true 
Judge,  whom  men  can  not  blind." 

"This  will  not  prevent  us  from  meeting  death  to- 
morrow, if  necessary,"  said  the  young  Olivier,  laughing. 


[178] 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  BLUNDERS 

Quand  vint  le  tour  de  saint  Guilin 
II  jeta  trois  des  sur  la  table. 
Ensuite  il  regarda  le  diable, 
Et  lui  dit  d'un  air  tres-malin: 
Jouons  done  cette  vieille  femme! 
Qui  de  nous  deux  aura  son  ame! 

Ancienne  Legende. 

;N  order  to  appear  before  the  King, 
Cinq-Mars  had  been  compelled  to 
mount  the  charger  of  one  of  the  light 
horse,  wounded  in  the  affair,  having 
lost  his  own  at  the  foot  of  the  ram- 
part. As  the  two  companies  were 
marching  out,  he  felt  some  one  touch 
his  shoulder,  and,  turning  round, 
saw  old  Grandchamp  leading  a  very  beautiful  gray 
horse. 

"Will  Monsieur  le  Marquis  mount  a  horse  of  his 
own?"  said  he.  "I  have  put  on  the  saddle  and  hous- 
ings of  velvet  embroidered  in  gold  that  remained  in 
the  trench.  Alas,  when  I  think  that  a  Spaniard 
might  have  taken  it,  or  even  a  Frenchman!  For  just 
now  there  are  so  many  people  who  take  all  they  find, 
as  if  it  were  their  own;  and  then,  as  the  proverb  says, 
*  What  falls  in  the  ditch  is  for  the  soldier. '  They  might 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

also  have  taken  the  four  hundred  gold  crowns  that 
Monsieur  le  Marquis,  be  it  said  without  reproach, 
forgot  to  take  out  of  the  holsters.  And  the  pistols! 
Oh,  what  pistols!  I  bought  them  in  Germany;  and 
here  they  are  as  good  as  ever,  and  with  their  locks 
perfect.  It  was  quite  enough  to  kill  the  poor  little 
black  horse,  that  was  born  in  England  as  sure  as  I 
was  at  Tours  in  Touraine,  without  also  exposing  these 
valuables  to  pass  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy. " 

While  making  this  lamentation,  the  worthy  man 
finished  saddling  the  gray  horse.  The  column  was 
long  enough  filing  out  to  give  him  time  to  pay  scru- 
pulous attention  to  the  length  of  the  stirrups  and  of 
the  bands,  all  the  while  continuing  his  harangue. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur,  for  being  somewhat 
slow  about  this;  but  I  sprained  my  arm  slightly  in 
lifting  Monsieur  de  Thou,  who  himself  raised  Mon- 
sieur le  Marquis  during  the  grand  scuffle." 

"How  earnest  thou  there  at  all,  stupid?"  said  Cinq- 
Mars.  "That  is  not  thy  business.  I  told  thee  to 
remain  in  the  camp." 

"Oh,  as  to  remaining  in  the  camp,  that  is  out  of 
the  question.  I  can't  stay  there;  when  I  hear  a  mus- 
ket-shot, I  should  be  ill  did  I  not  see  the  flash.  As 
for  my  business,  that  is  to  take  care  of  your  horses, 
and  you  are  on  them.  Monsieur,  think  you  I  should 
not  have  saved,  had  I  been  able,  the  life  of  the  poor 
black  horse  down  there  in  the  trench?  Ah,  how  I 
loved  him! — a  horse  that  gained  three  races  in  his 
time — a  time  too  short  for  those  who  loved  him  as  I 
loved  him!  He  never  would  take  his  corn  but  from 
[180] 


CINQ-MARS 

his  dear  Grandchamp;  and  then  he  would  caress  me 
with  his  head.  The  end  of  my  left  ear  that  he  carried 
away  one  day — poor  fellow! — proves  it,  for  it  was  not 
out  of  ill-will  he  bit  it  off;  quite  the  contrary.  You 
should  have  heard  how  he  neighed  with  rage  when 
any  one  else  came  near  him;  that  was  the  reason 
why  he  broke  Jean's  leg.  Good  creature,  I  loved 
him  so! 

"When  he  fell  I  held  him  on  one  side  with  one 
hand  and  M.  de  Locmaria  with  the  other.  I  thought 
at  first  that  both  he  and  that  gentleman  would  recover; 
but  unhappily  only  one  of  them  returned  to  life,  and 
that  was  he  whom  I  least  knew.  You  seem  to  be 
laughing  at  what  I  say  about  your  horse,  Monsieur; 
you  forget  that  in  times  of  war  the  horse  is  the  soul 
of  the  cavalier.  Yes,  Monsieur,  his  soul;  for  what 
is  it  that  intimidates  the  infantry?  It  is  the  horse! 
It  certainly  is  not  the  man,  who,  once  seated,  is  little 
more  than  a  bundle  of  hay.  Who  is  it  that  performs 
the  fine  deeds  that  men  admire?  The  horse.  There 
are  times  when  his  master,  who  a  moment  before 
would  rather  have  been  far  away,  finds  himself  vic- 
torious and  rewarded  for  his  horse's  valor,  while  the 
poor  beast  gets  nothing  but  blows.  Who  is  it  gains 
the  prize  in  the  race?  The  horse,  that  sups  hardly 
better  than  usual,  while  the  master  pockets  the  gold, 
and  is  envied  by  his  friends  and  admired  by  all  the 
lords  as  if  he  had  run  himself.  Who  is  it  that  hunts 
the  roebuck,  yet  puts  but  a  morsel  in  his  own  mouth? 
Again,  the  horse;  sometimes  the  horse  is  even  eaten 
himself,  poor  animal!  I  remember  in  a  campaign 
[181] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

with  Monsieur  le  Marechal,  it  happened  that 

But  what  is  the  matter,  Monsieur,  you  grow  pale?" 

"Bind  up  my  leg  with  something — a  handkerchief, 
a  strap,  or  what  you  will.  I  feel  a  burning  pain  there; 
I  know  not  what." 

"Your  boot  is  cut,  Monsieur.  It  may  be  some  ball; 
however,  lead  is  the  friend  of  man." 

"It  is  no  friend  of  mine,  at  all  events." 

"Ah,  who  loves,  chastens!  Lead  must  not  be  ill 
spoken  of!  What  is  that " 

While  occupied  in  binding  his  master's  leg  below 
the  knee,  the  worthy  Grandchamp  was  about  to  hold 
forth  in  praise  of  lead  as  absurdly  as  he  had  in  praise 
of  the  horse,  when  he  was  forced,  as  well  as  Cinq- 
Mars,  to  hear  a  warm  and  clamorous  dispute  among 
some  Swiss  soldiers  who  had  remained  behind  the 
other  troops.  They  were  talking  with  much  ges- 
ticulation, and  seemed  busied  with  two  men  among 
a  group  of  about  thirty  soldiers. 

D'Effiat,  still  holding  out  his  leg  to  his  servant,  and 
leaning  on  the  saddle  of  his  horse,  tried,  by  listening 
attentively,  to  understand  the  subject  of  the  colloquy; 
but  he  knew  nothing  of  German,  and  could  not  com- 
prehend the  dispute.  Grandchamp,  who,  still  hold- 
ing the  boot,  had  also  been  listening  very  seriously, 
suddenly  burst  into  loud  laughter,  holding  his  sides 
in  a  manner  not  usual  with  him. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  Monsieur,  here  are  two  sergeants  dis- 
puting which  they  ought  to  hang  of  the  two  Spaniards 
there;  for  your  red  comrades  did  not  take  the  trouble 
to  tell  them.  One  of  the  Swiss  says  that  it's  the 
[182] 


CINQ-MARS 

officer,  the  other  that  it's  the  soldier;  a  third  has  just 
made  a  proposition  for  meeting  the  difficulty." 
"And  what  does  he  say?" 
"He  suggests  that  they  hang  them  both." 
"Stop!  stop!"  cried  Cinq-Mars  to  the  soldiers,  at- 
tempting to  walk ;  but  his  leg  would  not  support  him. 
"Put  me  on  my  horse,  Grandchamp." 
"Monsieur,  you  forget  your  wound." 
"Do  as  I  command,  and  then  mount  thyself." 
The  old  servant  grumblingly  obeyed,  and  then  gal- 
loped off,  in  fulfilment  of  another  imperative  order, 
to  stop  the  Swiss,  who  were  just  about  to  hang  their 
two  prisoners  to  a  tree,  or  to  let  them  hang  them- 
selves ;  for  the  officer,  with  the  sang-froid  of  his  nation, 
had  himself  passed  the  running  noose  of  a  rope  around 
his  own  neck,  and,  without  being  told,  had  ascended 
a  small  ladder  placed  against  the  tree,  in  order  to  tie 
the  other  end  of  the  rope  to  one  of  its  branches.     The 
soldier,  with  the  same  calm  indifference,  was  looking 
on  at  the  Swiss  disputing  around  him,  while  holding 
the  ladder. 

Cinq-Mars  arrived  in  time  to  save  them,  gave  his 
name  to  the  Swiss  sergeant,  and,  employing  Grand- 
champ  as  interpreter,  said  that  the  two  prisoners  were 
his,  and  that  he  would  take  them  to  his  tent;  that  he 
was  a  captain  in  the  guards,  and  would  be  responsi- 
ble for  them.  The  German,  ever  exact  in  discipline, 
made  no  reply;  the  only  resistance  was  on  the  part 
of  the  prisoner.  The  officer,  still  on  the  top  of  the 
ladder,  turned  round,  and  speaking  thence  as  from  a 
pulpit,  said,  with  a  sardonic  laugh : 
[183] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

» 

"I  should  much  like  to  know  what  you  do  here? 
Who  told  you  I  wished  to  live?" 

"I  do  not  ask  to  know  anything  about  that,"  said 
Cinq-Mars;  "it  matters  not  to  me  what  becomes  of 
you  afterward.  All  I  propose  now  is  to  prevent  an 
act  which  seems  to  me  unjust  and  cruel.  You  may 
kill  yourself  afterward,  if  you  like." 

"Well  said,"  returned  the  ferocious  Spaniard;  "you 
please  me.  I  thought  at  first  you  meant  to  affect  the 
generous  in  order  to  oblige  me  to  be  grateful,  which 
is  a  thing  I  detest.  Well,  I  consent  to  come  down; 
but  I  shall  hate  you  as  much  as  ever,  for  you  are  a 
Frenchman.  Nor  do  I  thank  you,  for  you  only  dis- 
charge a  debt  you  owe  me,  since  it  was  I  who  this 
morning  kept  you  from  being  shot  by  this  young  soldier 
while  he  was  taking  aim  at  you;  and  he  is  a  man  who 
never  missed  a  chamois  in  the  mountains  of  Leon." 

"Be  it  as  you  will,"  said  Cinq-Mars;  "come 
down." 

It  was  his  character  ever  to  assume  with  others  the 
mien  they  wore  toward  him;  and  the  rudeness  of  the 
Spaniard  made  him  as  hard  as  iron  toward  him. 

"A  proud  rascal  that,  Monsieur,"  said  Grand- 
champ;  "in  your  place  Monsieur  le  Marechal  would 
certainly  have  left  him  on  his  ladder.  Come,  Louis, 
Etienne,  Germain,  escort  Monsieur's  prisoners — a 
fine  acquisition,  truly!  If  they  bring  you  any  luck, 
I  shall  be  very  much  surprised. " 

Cinq-Mars,  suffering  from  the  motion  of  his  horse, 
rode  only  at  the  pace  of  his  prisoners  on  foot,  and 
was  accordingly  at  a  distance  behind  the  red  com- 
[184] 


CINQ-MARS 

panics,  who  followed  close  upon  the  King.  He  med- 
itated on  his  way  what  it  could  be  that  the  Prince  de- 
sired to  say  to  him.  A  ray  of  hope  presented  to  his 
mind  the  figure  of  Marie  de  Mantua  in  the  distance; 
and  for  a  moment  his  thoughts  were  calmed.  But  all 
his  future  lay  in  that  brief  sentence  —  "to  please  the 
King";  and  he  began  to  reflect  upon  all  the  bitter- 
ness in  which  his  task  might  involve  him. 

At  that  moment  he  saw  approaching  his  friend,  De 
Thou,  who,  anxious  at  his  remaining  behind,  had 
sought  him  in  the  plain,  eager  to  aid  him  if  necessary. 

"It  is  late,  my  friend;  night  approaches.  You 
have  delayed  long;  I  feared  for  you.  Whom  have 
you  here?  What  has  detained  you?  The  King  will 
soon  be  asking  for  you." 

Such  were  the  rapid  inquiries  of  the  young  coun- 
sellor, whose  anxiety,  more  than  the  battle  itself,  had 
made  him  lose  his  accustomed  serenity. 

"I  was  slightly  wounded;  I  bring  a  prisoner,  and 
I  was  thinking  of  the  King.  What  can  he  want  me 
for,  my  friend?  What  must  I  do  if  he  proposes  to 
place  me  about  his  person?  I  must  please  him;  and 
at  this  thought — shall  I  own  it? — I  am  tempted  to  fly. 
But  I  trust  that  I  shall  not  have  that  fatal  honor. 
'To  please,'  how  humiliating  the  word!  'to  obey'  quite 
the  opposite!  A  soldier  runs  the  chance  of  death, 
and  there's  an  end.  But  in  what  base  compliances, 
what  sacrifices  of  himself,  what  compositions  with 
his  conscience,  what  degradation  of  his  own  thought, 
may  not  a  courtier  be  involved!  Ah,  De  Thou,  my 
dear  De  Thou!  I  am  not  made  for  the  court;  I  feel  it, 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

though  I  have  seen  it  but  for  a  moment.  There  is  in 
my  temperament  a  certain  savageness,  which  education 
has  polished  only  on  the  surface.  At  a  distance,  I 
thought  myself  adapted  to  live  in  this  all-powerful 
world;  I  even  desired  it,  led  by  a  cherished  hope  of 
my  heart.  But  I  shuddered  at  the  first  step;  I  shud- 
dered at  the  mere  sight  of  the  Cardinal.  The  recol- 
lection of  the  last  of  his  crimes,  at  which  I  was  pres- 
ent, kept  me  from  addressing  him.  He  horrifies  me; 
I  never  can  endure  to  be  near  him.  The  King's  favor, 
too,  has  that  about  it  which  dismays  me,  as  if  I 
knew  it  would  be  fatal  to  me." 

"I  am  glad  to  perceive  this  apprehension  in  you; 
it  may  be  most  salutary,"  said  De  Thou,  as  they  rode 
on.  "You  are  about  to  enter  into  contact  with  power. 
Before,  you  did  not  even  conceive  it;  now  you  will 
touch  it  with  your  very  hand.  You  will  see  what  it 
is,  and  what  hand  hurls  the  lightning.  Heaven  grant 
that  that  lightning  may  never  strike  you!  You  will 
probably  be  present  in  those  councils  which  regulate 
the  destiny  of  nations;  you  will  see,  you  will  perchance 
originate,  those  caprices  whence  are  born  sanguinary 
wars,  conquests,  and  treaties;  you  will  hold  in  your 
hand  the  drop  of  water  which  swells  into  mighty  tor- 
rents. It  is  only  from  high  places  that  men  can  judge 
of  human  affairs;  you  must  look  from  the  mountain- 
top  ere  you  can  appreciate  the  littleness  of  those 
things  which  from  below  appear  to  us  great." 

"Ah,  were  I  on  those  heights,  I  should  at  least 
learn  the  lesson  you  speak  of;  but  this  Cardinal,  this 
man  to  whom  I  must  be  under  obligation,  this  man 
[186] 


CINQ-MARS 

whom  I  know  too  well  by  his  works — what  will  he  be 
to  me?" 

"  A  friend,  a  protector,  no  doubt, "  answered  De  Thou. 

"Death  were  a  thousand  times  preferable  to  his 
friendship!  I  hate  his  whole  being,  even  his  very 
name;  he  spills  the  blood  of  men  with  the  cross  of 
the  Redeemer!" 

"What  horrors  are  you  saying,  my  friend?  You 
will  ruin  yourself  if  you  reveal  your  sentiments  respect- 
ing the  Cardinal  to  the  King." 

"Never  mind;  in  the  midst  of  these  tortuous  ways, 
I  desire  to  take  a  new  one,  the  right  line.  My  whole 
opinion,  the  opinion  of  a  just  man,  shall  be  unveiled 
to  the  King  himself,  if  he  interrogate  me,  even  should 
it  cost  me  my  head.  I  have  at  last  seen  this  King, 
who  has  been  described  to  me  as  so  weak;  I  have  seen 
him,  and  his  aspect  has  touched  me  to  the  heart  in 
spite  of  myself.  Certainly,  he  is  very  unfortunate, 
but  he  can  not  be  cruel;  he  will  listen  to  the  truth." 

"Yes;  but  he  will  not  dare  to  make  it  triumph," 
answered  the  sage  De  Thou.  "Beware  of  this  warmth 
of  heart,  which  often  draws  you  by  sudden  and  dan- 
gerous movements.  Do  not  attack  a  colossus  like 
Richelieu  without  having  measured  him." 

"That  is  just  like  my  tutor,  the  Abbe  Quillet.  My 
dear  and  prudent  friend,  neither  the  one  nor  the  other 
of  you  know  me;  you  do  not  know  how  weary  I  am 
of  myself,  and  whither  I  have  cast  my  gaze.  I  must 
mount  or  die." 

"What!  already  ambitious?"  exclaimed  De  Thou, 
with  extreme  surprise. 

[187] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

His  friend  inclined  his  head  upon  his  hands,  aban- 
doning the  reins  of  his  horse,  and  did  not  answer. 

"What!  has  this  selfish  passion  of  a  riper  age  ob- 
tained possession  of  you  at  twenty,  Henri?  Ambition 
is  the  saddest  of  all  hopes." 

"And  yet  it  possesses  me  entirely  at  present,  for  I 
see  only  by  means  of  it,  and  by  it  my  whole  heart  is 
penetrated." 

"Ah,  Cinq-Mars,  I  no  longer  recognize  you!  how 
different  you  were  formerly!  I  do  not  conceal  from 
you  that  you  appear  to  me  to  have  degenerated.  In 
those  walks  of  our  childhood,  when  the  life,  and,  above 
all,  the  death  of  Socrates,  caused  tears  of  admiration 
and  envy  to  flow  from  our  eyes;  when,  raising  our- 
selves to  the  ideal  of  the  highest  virtue,  we  wished 
that  those  illustrious  sorrows,  those  sublime  misfor- 
tunes, which  create  great  men,  might  in  the  future 
come  upon  us;  when  we  constructed  for  ourselves 
imaginary  occasions  of  sacrifices  and  devotion — if 
the  voice  of  a  man  had  pronounced,  between  us  two, 
the  single  world,  'ambition,'  we  should  have  believed 
that  we  were  touching  a  serpent." 

De  Thou  spoke  with  the  heat  of  enthusiasm  and  of 
reproach.  Cinq-Mars  went  on  without  answering, 
and  still  with  his  face  in  his  hands.  After  an  instant 
of  silence  he  removed  then\,  and  allowed  his  eyes  to 
be  seen,  full  of  generous  tears.  He  pressed  the  hand 
of  his  friend  warmly,  and  said  to  him,  with  a  pene- 
trating accent: 

"Monsieur  de  Thou,  you  have  recalled  to  me  the 
most  beautiful  thoughts  of  my  earliest  youth.  Do 
[188] 


CINQ-MARS 

not  believe  that  I  have  fallen;  I  am  consumed  by  a 
secret  hope  which  I  can  not  confide  even  to  you.  I 
despise,  as  much  as  you,  the  ambition  which  will  seem 
to  possess  me.  All  the  world  will  believe  in  it;  but 
what  do  I  care  for  the  world?  As  for  you,  noble 
friend,  promise  me  that  you  will  not  cease  to  esteem 
me,  whatever  you  may  see  me  do.  I  swear  that  my 
thoughts  are  as  pure  as  heaven  itself!" 

"Well,"  said  De  Thou,  "I  swear  by  heaven  that 
I  believe  you  blindly;  you  give  me  back  my  life!" 

They  shook  hands  again  with  effusion  of  heart,  and 
then  perceived  that  they  had  arrived  almost  before 
the  tent  of  the  King. 

Day  was  nearly  over;  but  one  might  have  believed 
that  a  softer  day  was  rising,  for  the  moon  issued  from 
the  sea  in  all  her  splendor.  The  transparent  sky  of 
the  south  showed  not  a  single  cloud,  and  it  seemed 
like  a  veil  of  pale  blue  sown  with  silver  spangles;  the 
air,  still  hot,  was  agitated  only  by  the  rare  passage 
of  breezes  from  the  Mediterranean;  and  all  sounds 
had  ceased  upon  the  earth.  The  fatigued  army  re- 
posed beneath  their  tents,  the  line  of  which  was  marked 
by  the  fires,  and  the  besieged  city  seemed  oppressed 
by  the  same  slumber;  upon  its  ramparts  nothing  was 
to  be  seen  but  the  arms  of  the  sentinels,  which  shone 
in  the  rays  of  the  moon,  or  the  wandering  fire  of  the 
night-rounds.  Nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  the  gloomy 
and  prolonged  cries  of  its  guards,  who  warned  one 
another  not  to  sleep. 

It  was  only  around  the  King  that  all  things  waked, 
but  at  a  great  distance  from  him.  This  Prince  had 
[189] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

dismissed  all  his  suite;  he  walked  alone  before  his 
tent,  and,  pausing  sometimes  to  contemplate  the  beauty 
of  the  heavens,  he  appeared  plunged  in  melancholy 
meditation.  No  one  dared  to  interrupt  him;  and 
those  of  the  nobility  who  had  remained  in  the  royal 
quarters  had  gathered  about  the  Cardinal,  who,  at 
twenty  paces  from  the  King,  was  seated  upon  a  little 
hillock  of  turf,  fashioned  into  a  seat  by  the  soldiers. 
There  he  wiped  his  pale  forehead,  fatigued  with  the 
cares  of  the  day  and  with  the  unaccustomed  weight 
of  a  suit  of  armor;  he  bade  adieu,  in  a  few  hurried 
but  always  attentive  and  polite  words,  to  those  who 
came  to  salute  him  as  they  retired.  No  one  was  near 
him  now  except  Joseph,  who  was  talking  with  Lau- 
bardemont.  The  Cardinal  was  looking  at  the  King, 
to  see  whether,  before  reentering,  this  Prince  would 
not  speak  to  him,  when  the  sound  of  the  horses  of 
Cinq-Mars  was  heard.  The  Cardinal's  guards  ques- 
tioned him,  and  allowed  him  to  advance  without  fol- 
lowers, and  only  with  De  Thou. 

"You  are  come  too  late,  young  man,  to  speak  with 
the  King,"  said  the  Cardinal-Duke  with  a  sharp  voice. 
"One  can  not  make  his  Majesty  wait." 

The  two  friends  were  about  to  retire,  when  the 
voice  of  Louis  XIII  himself  made  itself  heard.  This 
Prince  was  at  that  moment  in  one  of  those  false  posi- 
tions which  constituted  the  misfortune  of  his  whole 
life.  Profoundly  irritated  against  his  minister,  but 
not  concealing  from  himself  that  he  owed  the  success 
of  the  day  to  him,  desiring,  moreover,  to  announce  to 
him  his  intention  to  quit  the  army  and  to  raise  the 
[190] 


CINQ-MARS 

siege  of  Perpignan,  he  was  torn  between  the  desire 
of  speaking  to  the  Cardinal  and  the  fear  lest  his 
anger  might  be  weakened.  The  minister,  upon  his 
part,  dared  not  be  the  first  to  speak,  being  uncertain 
as  to  the  thoughts  which  occupied  his  master,  and 
fearing  to  choose  his  time  ill,  but  yet  not  able  to  de- 
cide upon  retiring.  Both  found  themselves  precisely 
in  the  position  of  two  lovers  who  have  quarrelled  and 
desire  to  have  an  explanation,  when  the  King,  seized 
with  joy  the  first  opportunity  of  extricating  himself. 
The  chance  was  fatal  to  the  minister.  See  upon 
what  trifles  depend  those  destinies  which  are  called 
great. 

"Is  it  not  Monsieur  de  Cinq-Mars?"  said  the  King, 
in  a  loud  voice.  "Let  him  approach;  I  am  waiting 
for  him." 

Young  D'Efnat  approached  on  horseback,  and  at 
some  paces  from  the  King  desired  to  set  foot  to  earth; 
but  hardly  had  his  leg  touched  the  ground  when  he 
dropped  upon  his  knees. 

"Pardon,  Sire!"  said  he,  "I  believe  that  I  am 
wounded;"  and  the  blood  issued  violently  from  his 
boot. 

De  Thou  had  seen  him  fall,  and  had  approached  to 
sustain  him.  Richelieu  seized  this  opportunity  of  ad- 
vancing also,  with  dissembled  eagerness. 

"Remove  this  spectacle  from  the  eyes  of  the  King," 
said  he.  "You  see  very  well  that  this  young  man  is 
dying." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Louis,  himself  supporting  him; 
"a  king  of  France  knows  how  to  see  a  man  die,  and 
[191] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

has  no  fear  of  the  blood  which  flows  for  him.  This 
young  man  interests  me.  Let  him  be  carried  into  my 
tent,  and  let  my  doctors  attend  him.  If  his  wound  is 
not  serious,  he  shall  come  with  me  to  Paris,  for  the 
siege  is  suspended,  Monsieur  le  Cardinal.  Such  is 
my  desire;  other  affairs  call  me  to  the  centre  of  the 
kingdom.  I  will  leave  you  here  to  command  in  my 
absence.  This  is  what  I  desired  to  say  to  you." 

With  these  words  the  King  went  abruptly  into  his 
tent,  preceded  by  his  pages  and  his  officers,  carrying 
flambeaux. 

The  royal  pavilion  was  closed,  and  Cinq-Mars  was 
borne  in  by  De  Thou  and  his  people,  while  the  Due 
de  Richelieu,  motionless  and  stupefied,  still  regarded 
the  spot  where  this  scene  had  passed.  He  appeared 
thunderstruck,  and  incapable  of  seeing  or  hearing 
those  who  observed  him. 

Laubardemont,  still  intimidated  by  his  ill  reception 
of  the  preceding  day,  dared  not  speak  a  word  to  him, 
and  Joseph  hardly  recognized  in  him  his  former  mas- 
ter. For  an  instant  he  regretted  having  given  him- 
self to  him,  and  fancied  that  his  star  was  waning;  but, 
reflecting  that  he  was  hated  by  all  men  and  had  no 
resource  save  in  Richelieu,  he  seized  him  by  the  arm, 
and,  shaking  him  roughly,  said  to  him  in  a  low  voice, 
but  harshly: 

"Come,  come,  Monseigneur,  you  are  chicken- 
hearted;  come  with  us." 

And,  appearing  to  sustain  him  by  the  elbow,  but  in 
fact  drawing  him  in  spite  of  himself,  with  the  aid  of 
Laubardemont,  he  made  him  enter  his  tent,  as  a 


CINQ-MARS 

schoolmaster  forces  a  schoolboy  to  rest,  fearing  the 
effects  of  the  evening  mist  upon  him. 

The  prematurely  aged  man  slowly  obeyed  the  wishes 
of  his  two  parasites,  and  the  purple  of  the  pavilion 
dropped  upon  him. 


13 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  NIGHT-WATCH 

0  coward  conscience,  how  dost  thou  afflict  me! 
The  lights  burn  blue.     It  is  now  dead  midnight, 
Cold,  fearful  drops  stand  on  my  trembling  flesh. 
What  do  I  fear?    Myself? 

1  love  myself!  SHAKESPEARE. 

fARDLY  was  the  Cardinal  in  his  tent 
before  he  dropped,  armed  and  cui- 
rassed,  into  a  great  armchair;  and 
there,  holding  his  handkerchief  to 
his  mouth  with  a  fixed  gaze,  he  re- 
mained in  this  attitude,  letting  his 
two  dark  confidants  wonder  whether 
contemplation  or  annihilation  main- 
tained him  in  it.  He  was  deadly  pale,  and  a  cold  sweat 
streamed  upon  his  brow.  In  wiping  it  with  a  sudden 
movement,  he  threw  behind  him  his  red  cap,  the  only 
ecclesiastical  sign  which  remained  upon  him,  and 
again  rested  with  his  mouth  upon  his  hands.  The 
Capuchin  on  one  side,  and  the  sombre  magistrate  on 
the  other,  considered  him  in  silence,  and  seemed,  with 
their  brown  and  black  costumes  like  the  priest  and 
the  notary  of  a  dying  man. 

The  friar,  drawing  from  the  depth  of  his  chest  a 
voice  that  seemed  better  suited  to  repeat  the  service 


CINQ-MARS 

of  the  dead  than  to  administer  consolation,  spoke 
first: 

"If  Monseigneur  will  recall  my  counsels  given  at 
Narbonne,  he  will  confess  that  I  had  a  just  presenti- 
ment of  the  troubles  which  this  young  man  would  one 
day  cause  him." 

The  magistrate  continued : 

"I  have  learned  from  the  old  deaf  abbe  who 
dined  at  the  house  of  the  Marechale  d'Effiat,  and 
who  heard  all,  that  this  young  Cinq-Mars  exhibited 
more  energy  than  one  would  have  imagined,  and  that 
he  attempted  to  rescue  the  Marechal  de  Bassompierre. 
I  have  still  by  me  the  detailed  report  of  the  deaf  man, 
who  played  his  part  very  well.  His  Eminence  the 
Cardinal  must  be  sufficiently  convinced  by  it." 

"I  have  told  Monseigneur,"  resumed  Joseph — for 
these  two  ferocious  Seyds  alternated  their  discourse 
like  the  shepherds  of  Virgil  —  "I  have  told  him  that 
it  would  be  well  to  get  rid  of  this  young  D'Effiat,  and 
that  I  would  charge  myself  with  the  business,  if  such 
were  his  good  pleasure.  It  would  be  easy  to  destroy 
him  in  the  opinion  of  the  King." 

"It  would  be  safer  to  make  him  die  of  his  wound," 
answered  Laubardemont ;  "if  his  Eminence  would 
have  the  goodness  to  command  me,  I  know  intimately 
the  assistant-physician,  who  cured  me  of  a  blow  on 
the  forehead,  and  is  now  attending  to  him.  He  is  a 
prudent  man,  entirely  devoted  to  Monseigneur  the 
Cardinal-Duke,  and  whose  affairs  have  been  somewhat 
embarrassed  by  gambling." 

"I  believe,"  replied  Joseph,  with  an  air  of  modesty, 
[195] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

mingled  with  a  touch  of  bitterness,  "that  if  his  Ex- 
cellency proposed  to  employ  any  one  in  this  useful 
project,  it  should  be  his  accustomed  negotiator,  who 
has  had  some  success  in  the  past." 

"I  fancy  that  I  could  enumerate  some  signal  in- 
stances," answered  Laubardemont,  "and  very  recent 
ones,  of  which  the  difficulty  was  great." 

"Ah,  no  doubt,"  said  the  father,  with  a  bow  and  an 
air  of  consideration  and  politeness,  "your  most  bold 
and  skilfully  executed  commission  was  the  trial  of 
Urbain  Grandier,  the  magician.  But,  with  Heaven's 
assistance,  one  may  be  enabled  to  do  things  quite  as 
worthy  and  bold.  It  is  not  without  merit,  for  in- 
stance," added  he,  dropping  his  eyes  like  a  young 
girl,  "to  have  extirpated  vigorously  a  royal  Bourbon 
branch." 

"It  was  not  very  difficult,"  answered  the  magis- 
trate, with  bitterness,  "to  select  a  soldier  from  the 
guards  to  kill  the  Comte  de  Soissons;  but  to  preside, 
to  judge " 

"And  to  execute  one's  self,"  interrupted  the  heated 
Capuchin,  "is  certainly  less  difficult  than  to  educate 
a  man  from  infancy  in  the  thought  of  accomplishing 
great  things  with  discretion,  and  to  bear  all  tortures, 
if  necessary,  for  the  love  of  heaven,  rather  than  reveal 
the  name  of  those  who  have  armed  him  with  their 
justice,  or  to  die  courageously  upon  the  body  of  him 
that  he  has  struck,  as  did  one  who  was  commissioned 
by  me.  He  uttered  no  cry  at  the  blow  of  the  sword 
of  Riquemont,  the  equerry  of  the  Prince.  He  died 
like  a  saint;  he  was  my  pupil." 
[196] 


CINQ-MARS 

"To  give  orders  is  somewhat  different  from  running 
risk  one's  self." 

"And  did  I  risk  nothing  at  the  siege  of  Rochelle?" 

"Of  being  drowned  in  a  sewer,  no  doubt,"  said 
Laubardemont. 

"And  you,"  said  Joseph,  "has  your  danger  been 
that  of  catching  your  fingers  in  instruments  of  tor- 
ture? And  all  this  because  the  Abbess  of  the  Ursu- 
lines  is  your  niece." 

"It  was  a  good  thing  for  your  brothers  of  Saint 
Francis,  who  held  the  hammers;  but  I — I  was  struck 
in  the  forehead  by  this  same  Cinq-Mars,  who  was 
leading  an  enraged  multitude." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  of  that?"  cried  Joseph,  de- 
lighted. "Did  he  dare  to  act  thus  against  the  com- 
mands of  the  King?"  The  joy  which  this  discovery 
gave  him  made  him  forget  his  anger. 

"Fools!"  exclaimed  the  Cardinal,  suddenly  break- 
ing his  long  silence,  and  taking  from  his  lips  his  hand- 
kerchief stained  with  blood.  "I  would  punish  your 
angry  dispute  had  it  not  taught  me  many  secrets  of 
infamy  on  your  part.  You  have  exceeded  my  orders; 
I  commanded  no  torture,  Laubardemont.  That  is 
your  second  fault.  You  cause  me  to  be  hated  for 
nothing;  that  was  useless.  But  you,  Joseph,  do  not 
neglect  the  details  of  this  disturbance  in  which  Cinq- 
Mars  was  engaged;  it  may  be  of  use  in  the  end." 

"I  have  all  the  names  and  descriptions,"  said  the 
secret  judge,  eagerly,  bending  his  tall  form  and  thin, 
olive-colored  visage,  wrinkled  with  a  servile  smile,  down 
to  the  armchair. 

[i97] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"It  is  well!  it  is  well!"  said  the  minister,  pushing 
him  back;  "but  that  is  not  the  question  yet.  You, 
Joseph,  be  in  Paris  before  this  young  upstart,  who 
will  become  a  favorite,  I  am  certain.  Become  his 
friend;  make  him  of  my  party  or  destroy  him.  Let 
him  serve  me  or  fall.  But,  above  all,  send  me  every 
day  safe  persons  to  give  me  verbal  accounts.  I  will 
have  no  more  writing  for  the  future.  I  am  much  dis- 
pleased with  you,  Joseph.  What  a  miserable  courier 
you  chose  to  send  from  Cologne!  He  could  not  under- 
stand me.  He  saw  the  King  too  soon,  and  here  we 
are  still  in  disgrace  in  consequence.  You  have  just 
missed  ruining  me  entirely.  Go  and  observe  what  is 
about  to  be  done  in  Paris.  A  conspiracy  will  soon 
be  hatched  against  me;  but  it  will  be  the  last.  I  re- 
main here  in  order  to  let  them  all  act  more  freely.  Go, 
both  of  you,  and  send  me  my  valet  after  the  lapse  of 
two  hours;  I  wish  now  to  be  alone." 

The  steps  of  the  two  men  were  still  to  be  heard  as 
Richelieu,  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  entrance  to  the 
tent,  pursued  them  with  his  irritated  glance. 

"Wretches!"  he  exclaimed,  when  he  was  alone, 
"go  and  accomplish  some  more  secret  work,  and  after- 
ward I  will  crush  you,  in  pure  instruments  of  my 
power.  The  King  will  soon  succumb  beneath  the 
slow  malady  which  consumes  him.  I  shall  then  be 
regent;  I  shall  be  King  of  France  myself;  I  shall  no 
longer  have  to  dread  the  caprices  of  his  weakness.  I 
will  destroy  the  haughty  races  of  this  country.  I  will 
be  alone  above  them  all.  Europe  shall  tremble. 

I " 

[198] 


CINQ-MARS 

Here  the  blood,  which  again  filled  his  mouth,  obliged 
him  to  apply  his  handkerchief  to  it  once  more. 

"Ah,  what  do  I  say?  Unhappy  victim  that  I  am! 
Here  am  I,  death-stricken!  My  dissolution  is  near; 
my  blood  flows,  and  my  spirit  desires  to  labor  still. 
Why?  For  whom?  Is  it  for  glory?  That  is  an 
empty  word.  Is  it  for  men?  I  despise  them.  For 
whom,  then,  since  I  shall  die,  perhaps,  in  two  or 
three  years?  Is  it  for  God?  What  a  name!  I  have 
not  walked  with  Him!  He  has  seen  all — 

Here  he  let  his  head  fall  upon  his  breast,  and  his 
eyes  met  the  great  cross  of  gold  which  was  suspended 
from  his  neck.  He  could  not  help  throwing  himself 
back  in  his  chair;  but  it  followed  him.  He  took  it; 
and  considering  it  with  fixed  and  devouring  looks,  he 
said  in  a  low  voice: 

"Terrible  sign!  thou  followest  me!  Shall  I  find 
thee  elsewhere — divinity  and  suffering?  What  am  I? 
What  have  I  done?" 

For  the  first  time  a  singular  and  unknown  terror 
penetrated  him.  He  trembled,  at  once  frozen  and 
scorched  by  an  invincible  shudder.  He  dared  not  lift 
his  eyes,  fearing  to  meet  some  terrible  vision.  He 
dared  not  call,  fearing  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice.  He  remained  profoundly  plunged  in  medita- 
tions on  eternity,  so  terrible  for  him,  and  he  murmured 
the  following  kind  of  prayer: 

"Great  God,  if  Thou  hearest  me,  judge  me  then, 

but  do  not  isolate  me  in  judging  me !    Look  upon  me, 

surrounded  by  the  men  of  my  generation;    consider 

the  immense  work  I  had  undertaken!    Was  not  an 

[i99] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

enormous  lever  wanted  to  bestir  those  masses;  and 
if  this  lever  in  falling  crushes  some  useless  wretches, 
am  I  very  culpable?  I  seem  wicked  to  men;  but 
Thou,  Supreme  Judge,  dost  thou  regard  me  thus? 

"No;  Thou  knowest  it  is  boundless  power  which 
makes  creature  culpable  against  creature.  It  is  not 
Armand  de  Richelieu  who  destroys;  it  is  the  Prime- 
Minister.  It  is  not  for  his  personal  injuries;  it  is  to 
carry  out  a  system.  But  a  system — what  is  this 
word?  Is  it  permitted  me  to  play  thus  with  men,  to 
regard  them  as  numbers  for  working  out  a  thought, 
which  perhaps  is  false?  I  overturn  the  framework 
of  the  throne.  What  if,  without  knowing  it,  I  sap 
its  foundations  and  hasten  its  fall!  Yes,  my  borrowed 
power  has  seduced  me.  O  labyrinth!  O  weakness 
of  human  thought!  Simple  faith,  why  did  I  quit  thy 
path?  Why  am  I  not  a  simple  priest?  If  I  dared 
to  break  with  man  and  give  myself  to  God,  the  lad- 
der of  Jacob  would  again  descend  in  my  dreams." 

At  this  moment  his  ear  was  struck  by  a  great  noise 
outside — laughter  of  soldiers,  ferocious  shouts  and 
oaths,  mingled  with  words  which  were  a  long  time  sus- 
tained by  a  weak  yet  clear  voice;  one  would  have 
said  it  was  the  voice  of  an  angel  interrupted  by  the 
laughter  of  demons.  He  rose  and  opened  a  sort  of 
linen  window,  worked  in  the  side  of  his  square  tent. 
A  singular  spectacle  presented  itself  to  his  view;  he 
remained  some  instants  contemplating  it,  attentive  to 
the  conversation  which  was  going  on. 

"Listen,  listen,  La  Valeur!"  said  one  soldier  to  an- 
other. "See,  she  begins  again  to  speak  and  to  sing! 

[200] 


CINQ-MARS 

Put  her  in  the  middle  of  the  circle,  between  us  and 
the  fire." 

"You  do  not  know  her!  You  do  not  know  her!" 
said  another.  "But  here  is  Grand-Ferre",  who  says 
that  he  knows  her." 

"Yes,  I  tell  you  I  know  her;  and,  by  Saint  Peter 
of  Loudun,  I  will  swear  that  I  have  seen  her  in  my 
village,  when  I  had  leave  of  absence ;  and  it  was  upon 
an  occasion  at  which  one  shuddered,  but  concerning 
which  one  dares  not  talk,  especially  to  a  Cardinalist 
like  you." 

"Eh!  and  pray  why  dare  not  one  speak  of  it,  you 
great  simpleton?"  said  an  old  soldier,  twisting  up  his 
moustache. 

"It  is  not  spoken  of  because  it  burns  the  tongue. 
Do  you  understand  that?" 

"No,  I  don't  understand  it." 

"Well,  nor  I  neither;  but  certain  citizens  told  it  to 
me." 

Here  a  general  laugh  interrupted  him. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  is  he  a  fool?"  said  one.  "He  listens 
to  what  the  townsfolk  tell  him." 

"Ah,  well!  if  you  listen  to  their  gabble,  you  have 
time  to  lose,"  said  another. 

"You  do  not  know,  then,  what  my  mother  said, 
greenhorn?"  said  the  eldest,  gravely  dropping  his  eyes 
with  a  solemn  air,  to  compel  attention. 

"Eh!  how  can  you  think  that  I  know  it,  La  Pipe? 
Your  mother  must  have  died  of  old  age  before  my 
grandfather  came  into  the  world." 

"Well,  greenhorn,  I  will  tell  you!  You  shall  know, 
[201] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

first  of  all,  that  my  mother  was  a  respectable  Bohe- 
mian, as  much  attached  to  the  regiment  of  carabineers 
of  La  Roque  as  my  dog  Canon  there.  She  carried 
brandy  round  her  neck  in  a  barrel,  and  drank  better 
than  the  best  of  us.  She  had  fourteen  husbands,  all 
soldiers,  who  died  upon  the  field  of  battle." 

"Ha!  that  was  a  woman!"  interrupted  the  soldiers, 
full  of  respect. 

"And  never  once  in  her  life  did  she  speak  to  a 
townsman,  unless  it  was  to  say  to  him  on  coming  to 
her  lodging,  'Light  my  candle  and  warm  my  soup.'" 

"Well,  and  what  was  it  that  your  mother  said  to 
you?" 

"If  you  are  in  such  a  hurry,  you  shall  not  know, 
greenhorn.  She  said  habitually  in  her  talk,  'A  soldier 
is  better  than  a  dog;  but  a  dog  is  better  than  a 
bourgeois.'" 

"Bravo!  bravo!  that  was  well  said!"  cried  the  sol- 
dier, filled  with  enthusiasm  at  these  fine  words. 

"That,"  said  Grand-Ferre,  "does  not  prove  that 
the  citizens  who  made  the  remark  to  me  that  it  burned 
the  tongue  were  in  the  right;  besides,  they  were  not 
altogether  citizens,  for  they  had  swords,  and  they 
were  grieved  at  a  cure  being  burned,  and  so  was  I." 

"Eh!  what  was  it  to  you  that  they  burned  your 
cure,  great  simpleton?"  said  a  sergeant,  leaning  upon 
the  fork  of  his  arquebus;  "after  him  another  would 
come.  You  might  have  taken  one  of  our  generals  in 
his  stead,  who  are  all  cures  at  present;  for  me,  I  am 
a  Royalist,  and  I  say  it  frankly." 

"Hold  your  tongue!"  cried  La  Pipe;  "let  the  girl 
[202] 


CINQ-MARS 

speak.  It  is  these  dogs  of  Royalists  who  always  dis- 
turb us  in  our  amusements." 

"What  say  you?"  answered  Grand-Ferre.  "Do 
you  even  know  what  it  is  to  be  a  Royalist?" 

"Yes,"  said  La  Pipe;  "I  know  you  all  very  well. 
Go,  you  are  for  the  old  self-called  princes  of  the  peace, 
together  with  the  wranglers  against  the  Cardinal  and 
the  gabelle.  Am  I  right  or  not?" 

"No,  old  red-stocking.  A  Royalist  is  one  who  is  for 
the  King;  that's  what  it  is.  And  as  my  father  was 
the  King's  valet,  I  am  for  the  King,  you  see;  and  I 
have  no  liking  for  the  red- stockings,  I  can  tell  you." 

"Ah,  you  call  me  red-stocking,  eh?"  answered  the 
old  soldier.  "You  shall  give  me  satisfaction  to-morrow 
morning.  If  you  had  made  war  in  the  Valteline,  you 
would  not  talk  like  that;  and  if  you  had  seen  his 
Eminence  marching  upon  the  dike  at  Rochelle,  with 
the  old  Marquis  de  Spinola,  while  volleys  of  cannon- 
shot  were  sent  after  him,  you  would  have  nothing  to 
say  about  red-stockings." 

"Come,  let  us  amuse  ourselves,  instead  of  quar- 
relling," said  the  other  soldiers. 

The  men  who  conversed  thus  were  standing  round 
a  great  fire,  which  illuminated  them  more  than  the 
moon,  beautiful  as  it  was;  and  in  the  centre  of  the 
group  was  the  object  of  their  gathering  and  their 
cries.  The  Cardinal  perceived  a  young  woman  ar- 
rayed in  black  and  covered  with  a  long,  white  veil. 
Her  feet  were  bare;  a  thick  cord  clasped  her  elegant 
figure;  a  long  rosary  fell  from  her  neck  almost  to  her 
feet,  and  her  hands,  delicate  and  white  as  ivory,  turned 
[203] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

its  beads  and  made  them  pass  rapidly  beneath  her 
fingers.  The  soldiers,  with  a  barbarous  joy,  amused 
themselves  with  laying  little  brands  in  her  way  to 
burn  her  naked  feet.  The  oldest  took  the  smoking 
match  of  his  arquebus,  and,  approaching  it  to  the 
edge  of  her  robe,  said  in  a  hoarse  voice: 

"Come,  madcap,  tell  me  your  history,  or  I  will  fill 
you  with  powder  and  blow  you  up  like  a  mine;  take 
care,  for  I  have  already  played  that  trick  to  others 
besides  you,  in  the  old  wars  of  the  Huguenots.  Come, 
sing." 

The  young  woman,  looking  at  him  gravely,  made  no 
reply,  but  lowered  her  veil. 

"You  don't  manage  her  well,"  said  Grand-Ferre, 
with  a  drunken  laugh;  "you  will  make  her  cry.  You 
don't  know  the  fine  language  of  the  court;  let  me 
speak  to  her."  And,  touching  her  on  the  chin,  "My 
little  heart,"  he  said,  "if  you  will  please,  my  sweet, 
to  resume  the  little  story  you  told  just  now  to  these 
gentlemen,  I  will  pray  you  to  travel  with  me  upon  the 
river  Du  Tendre,  as  the  great  ladies  of  Paris  say, 
and  to  take  a  glass  of  brandy  with  your  faithful  chev- 
alier, who  met  you  formerly  at  Loudun,  when  you 
played  a  comedy  in  order  to  burn  a  poor  devil." 

The  young  woman  crossed  her  arms,  and,  looking 
around  her  with  an  imperious  air,  cried: 

"Withdraw,  in  the  name  of  the  God  of  armies; 
withdraw,  impious  men!  There  is  nothing  in  com- 
mon between  us.  I  do  not  understand  your  tongue, 
nor  you  mine.  Go,  sell  your  blood  to  the  princes  of 
the  earth  at  so  many  oboles  a  day,  and  leave  me  to 


CINQ-MARS 

accomplish   my  mission!     Conduct   me  to  the   Car- 
dinal." 

A  coarse  laugh  interrupted  her. 

"Do  you  think,"  said  a  carabineer  of  Maurevert, 
"that  his  Eminence  the  Generalissimo  will  receive 
you  with  your  feet  naked?  Go  and  wash  them." 

"The  Lord  has  said,  'Jerusalem,  lift  thy  robe,  and 
pass  the  rivers  of  water,'"  she  answered,  her  arms 
still  crossed.  "Let  me  be  conducted  to  the  Cardinal." 

Richelieu  cried  in  a  loud  voice,  "Bring  the  woman 
to  me,  and  let  her  alone!" 

All  were  silent;  they  conducted  her  to  the  minister. 

"Why,"  said  she,  beholding  him — "why  bring  me 
before  an  armed  man?" 

They  left  her  alone  with  him  without  answering. 

The  Cardinal  looked  at  her  with  a  suspicious  air. 
"Madame,"  said  he,  "what  are  you  doing  in  the  camp 
at  this  hour?  And  if  your  mind  is  not  disordered, 
why  these  naked  feet?" 

"It  is  a  vow;  it  is  a  vow,"  answered  the  young 
woman,  with  an  air  of  impatience,  seating  herself 
beside  him  abruptly.  "I  have  also  made  a  vow  not 
to  eat  until  I  have  found  the  man  I  seek." 

"My  sister,"  said  the  Cardinal,  astonished  and 
softened,  looking  closely  at  her,  "  God  does  not  exact 
such  rigors  from  a  weak  body,  and  particularly  from 
one  of  your  age,  for  you  seem  very  young." 

"Young!  oh,  yes,  I  was  very  young  a  few  days 
ago;  but  I  have  since  passed  two  existences  at  least, 
so  much  have  I  thought  and  suffered.  Look  on  my 
countenance." 

[205] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

And  she  discovered  a  face  of  perfect  beauty.  Black 
and  very  regular  eyes  gave  life  to  it;  but  in  their 
absence  one  might  have  thought  her  features  were 
those  of  a  phantom,  she  Wets  so  pale.  Her  lips  were 
blue  and  quivering;  and  a  strong  shudder  made  her 
teeth  chatter. 

"You  are  ill,  my  sister,"  said  the  minister,  touched, 
taking  her  hand,  which  he  felt  to  be  burning  hot.  A 
sort  of  habit  of  inquiring  concerning  his  own  health, 
and  that  of  others,  made  him  touch  the  pulse  of  her 
emaciated  arm;  he  felt  that  the  arteries  were  swollen 
by  the  beatings  of  a  terrible  fever. 

"Alas!"  he  continued,  with  more  of  interest,  "you 
have  killed  yourself  with  rigors  beyond  human  strength ! 
I  have  always  blamed  them,  and  especially  at  a  ten- 
der age.  What,  then,  has  induced  you  to  do  this? 
Is  it  to  confide  it  to  me  that  you  are  come?  Speak 
calmly,  and  be  sure  of  succor." 

"Confide  in  men!"  answered  the  young  woman; 
"oh,  no,  never!  All  have  deceived  me.  I  will  con- 
fide myself  to  no  one,  not  even  to  Monsieur  Cinq- 
Mars,  although  he  must  soon  die." 

"What!"  said  Richelieu,  contracting  his  brows,  but 
with  a  bitter  laugh, — "what!  do  you  know  this  young 
man?  Has  he  been  the  cause  of  your  misfortune?" 

"Oh,  no!  He  is  very  good,  and  hates  wickedness; 
that  is  what  will  ruin  him.  Besides,"  said  she,  sud- 
denly assuming  a  harsh  and  savage  air,  "men  are 
weak,  and  there  are  things  which  women  must  accom- 
plish. When  there  were  no  more  valiant  men  in 
Israel,  Deborah  arose." 

[206] 


CINQ-MARS 

"Ah!  how  came  you  with  all  this  fine  learning?" 
continued  the  Cardinal,  still  holding  her  hand. 

"Oh,  I  can't  explain  that!"  answered  she,  with  a 
touching  air  of  naivete  and  a  very  gentle  voice;  "you 
would  not  understand  me.  It  is  the  Devil  who  has 
taught  me  all,  and  who  has  destroyed  me. " 

"Ah,  my  child!  it  is  always  he  who  destroys  us; 
but  he  instructs  us  ill,"  said  Richelieu,  with  an  air  of 
paternal  protection  and  an  increasing  pity.  "What 
have  been  your  faults?  Tell  them  to  me;  I  am  vary 
powerful." 

"Ah,"  said  she,  with  a  look  of  doubt,  "you  have 
much  influence  over  warriors,  brave  men  and  gen- 
erals! Beneath  your  cuirass  must  beat  a  noble  heart; 
you  are  an  old  General  who  knows  nothing  of  the 
tricks  of  crime." 

Richelieu  smiled;   this  mistake  flattered  him. 

"I  heard  you  ask  for  the  Cardinal;  do  you  de- 
sire to  see  him?  Did  you  come  here  to  seek 
him?" 

The  girl  drew  back  and  placed  a  finger  upon  her 
forehead. 

"I  had  forgotten  it,"  said  she;  "you  have  talked  to 
me  too  much.  I  had  overlooked  this  idea,  and  yet  it 
is  an  important  one;  it  is  for  that  that  I  have  con- 
demned myself  to  the  hunger  which  is  killing  me.  I 
must  accomplish  it,  or  I  shall  die  first.  Ah,"  said 
she,  putting  her  hand  beneath  her  robe  in  her  bosom, 
whence  she  appeared  to  take  something,  "behold  it! 
this  idea " 

She  suddenly  blushed,  and  her  eyes  widened  extra- 
[207] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

ordinarily.     She  continued,  bending  to  the  ear  of  the 
Cardinal : 

"I  will  tell  you;  listen!  Urbain  Grandier,  my  lover 
Urbain,  told  me  this  night  that  it  was  Richelieu  who 
had  been  the  cause  of  his  death.  I  took  a  knife  from 
an  inn,  and  I  come  here  to  kill  him;  tell  me  where  he 
is." 

The  Cardinal,  surprised  and  terrified,  recoiled  with 
horror.  He  dared  not  call  his  guards,  fearing  the 
cries  of  this  woman  and  her  accusations;  neverthe- 
less, a  transport  of  this  madness  might  be  fatal  to 
him. 

"This  frightful  history  will  pursue  me  everywhere!" 
cried  he,  looking  fixedly  at  her,  and  thinking  within 
himself  of  the  course  he  should  take. 

They  remained  in  silence,  face  to  face,  in  the  same 
attitude,  like  two  wrestlers  who  contemplate  before 
attacking  each  other,  or  like  the  pointer  and  his  vic- 
tim petrified  by  the  power  of  a  look. 

In  the  mean  time,  Laubardemont  and  Joseph  had 
gone  forth  together;  and  ere  separating  they  talked 
for  a  moment  before  the  tent  of  the  Cardinal,  because 
they  were  eager  mutually  to  deceive  each  other.  Their 
hatred  had  acquired  new  force  by  their  recent  quar- 
rel; and  each  had  resolved  to  ruin  his  rival  in  the 
mind  of  his  master.  The  judge  then  began  the  dia- 
logue, which  each  of  them  had  prepared,  taking  the 
arm  of  the  other  as  by  one  and  the  same  movement. 

"Ah,  reverend  father!  how  you  have  afflicted  me  by 
seeming  to  take  in  ill  part  the  trifling  pleasantries 
which  I  said  to  you  just  now." 
[208] 


CINQ-MARS 

"Heavens,  no!  my  dear  Monsieur,  I  am  far  from 
that.  Charity,  where  would  be  charity?  I  have 
sometimes  a  holy  warmth  in  conversation,  for  the 
good  of  the  State  and  of  Monseigneur,  to  whom  I  am 
entirely  devoted." 

"Ah,  who  knows  it  better  than  I,  reverend  father? 
But  render  me  justice;  you  also  know  how  completely 
I  am  attached  to  his  Eminence  the  Cardinal,  to  whom 
I  owe  all.  Alas!  I  have  employed  too  much  zeal  in 
serving  him,  since  he  reproaches  me  with  it." 

"Reassure  yourself,"  said  Joseph;  "he  bears  no 
ill-will  toward  you.  I  know  him  well;  he  can  ap- 
preciate one's  actions  in  favor  of  one's  family.  He, 
too,  is  a  very  good  relative." 

"Yes,  there  it  is,"  answered  Laubardemont ;  "con- 
sider my  condition.  My  niece  would  have  been  to- 
tally ruined  at  her  convent  had  Urbain  triumphed; 
you  feel  that  as  well  as  I  do,  particularly  as  she  did 
not  quite  comprehend  us,  and  acted  the  child  when 
she  was  compelled  to  appear." 

"Is  it  possible?  In  full  audience!  What  you  tell 
me  indeed  makes  me  feel  for  you.  How  painful  it 
must  have  been!" 

"More  so  than  you  can  imagine.  She  forgot,  in 
her  madness,  all  that  she  had  been  told,  committed  a 
thousand  blunders  in  Latin,  which  we  patched  up  as 
well  as  we  could;  and  she  even  caused  an  unpleasant 
scene  on  the  day  of  the  trial,  very  unpleasant  for  me 
and  the  judges — there  were  swoons  and  shrieks.  Ah, 
I  swear  that  I  would  have  scolded  her  well  had  I  not 
been  forced  to  quit  precipitately  that  little  town  of 
14  [  209  ] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

Loudun.  But,  you  see,  it  is  natural  enough  that  I 
am  attached  to  her.  She  is  my  nearest  relative;  for 
my  son  has  turned  out  ill,  and  no  one  knows  what 
has  become  of  him  during  the  last  four  years.  Poor 
little  Jeanne  de  Belfiel!  I  made  her  a  nun,  and  then 
abbess,  in  order  to  preserve  all  for  that  scamp.  Had 
I  foreseen  his  conduct,  I  should  have  retained  her 
for  the  world." 

"She  is  said  to  have  great  beauty,"  answered  Jo- 
seph; "  that  is  a  precious  gift  for  a  family.  She  might 
have  been  presented  at  court,  and  the  King —  Ah! 
ah!  Mademoiselle  de  la  Fayette — eh!  eh! — Mademoi- 
selle d'Hautefort — you  understand;  it  may  be  even 
possible  to  think  of  it  yet." 

"Ah,  that  is  like  you,  Monseigneur!  for  we  know 
that  you  have  been  nominated  to  the  cardinalate;  how 
good  you  are  to  remember  the  most  devoted  of  your 
friends!" 

Laubardemont  was  yet  talking  to  Joseph  when  they 
found  themselves  at  the  end  of  the  line  of  the  camp, 
which  led  to  the  quarter  of  the  volunteers. 

"May  God  and  his  Holy  Mother  protect  you  dur- 
ing my  absence!"  said  Joseph,  stopping.  "To-mor- 
row I  depart  for  Paris;  and  as  I  shall  have  frequent 
business  with  this  young  Cinq-Mars,  I  shall  first  go  to 
see  him,  and  learn  news  of  his  wound." 

"Had  I  been  listened  to,"  said  Laubardemont, 
"you  would  not  now  have  had  this  trouble." 

"Alas,  you  are  right!"  answered  Joseph,  with  a 
profound  sigh,  and  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven;  "but 
the  Cardinal  is  no  longer  the  same  man.  He  will  not 

[210] 


CINQ-MARS 

fcake  advantage  of  good  ideas;  he  will  ruin  us  if  he 
goes  on  thus." 

And,  making  a  low  bow  to  the  judge,  the  Capuchin 
took  the  road  which  he  had  indicated  to  him. 

Laubardemont  followed  him  for  some  time  with  his 
eyes,  and,  when  he  was  quite  sure  of  the  route  which 
he  had  taken,  he  returned,  or,  rather,  ran  back  to  the 
tent  of  the  minister.  "The  Cardinal  dismisses  him, 
he  tells  me;  that  shows  that  he  is  tired  of  him.  I 
know  secrets  which  will  ruin  him.  I  will  add  that  he 
is  gone  to  pay  court  to  the  future  favorite.  I  will 
replace  this  monk  in  the  favor  of  the  minister.  The 
moment  is  propitious.  It  is  midnight;  he  will  be 
alone  for  an  hour  and  a  half  yet.  Let  me  run." 

He  arrived  at  the  tent  of  the  guards,  which  was 
before  the  pavilion. 

"Monseigneur  gives  audience  to  some  one,"  said 
the  captain,  hesitating;  "you  cannot  enter." 

"Never  mind;  you  saw  me  leave  an  hour  ago,  and 
things  are  passing  of  which  I  must  give  an  account." 

"Come  in,  Laubardemont,"  cried  the  minister; 
"come  in  quickly,  and  alone." 

He  entered.  The  Cardinal,  still  seated,  held  the 
two  hands  of  the  nun  in  one  of  his,  and  with  the  other 
he  imposed  silence  upon  his  stupefied  agent,  who 
remained  motionless,  not  yet  seeing  the  face  of  this 
woman.  She  spoke  volubly,  and  the  strange  things 
she  said  contrasted  horribly  with  the  sweetness  of  her 
voice.  Richelieu  seemed  moved. 

"Yes,  I  will  stab  him  with  a  knife.  It  is  the  knife 
which  the  demon  Behirith  gave  me  at  the  inn;  but  it 

[211] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

is  the  nail  of  Sisera.  It  has  a  handle  of  ivory,  you  see; 
and  I  have  wept  much  over  it.  Is  it  not  singular? 
my  good  General  ?  I  will  turn  it  in  the  throat  of  him 
who  killed  my  friend,  as  he  himself  told  me  to  do; 
and  afterward  I  will  burn  the  body.  There  is  like 
for  like,  the  punishment  which  God  permitted  to 
Adam.  You  have  an  astonished  air,  my  brave  gen- 
eral; but  you  would  be  much  more  so,  were  I  to  repeat 
to  you  his  song — the  song  which  he  sang  to  me  again 
last  night,  at  the  hour  of  the  funeral-pyre — you  under- 
stand?— the  hour  when  it  rains,  the  hour  when  my 
hand  burns  as  now.  He  said  to  me:  'They  are  much 
deceived,  the  magistrates,  the  red  judges.  I  have 
eleven  demons  at  my  command;  and  I  shall  come  to 
see  you  when  the  clock  strikes,  under  a  canopy  of 
purple  velvet,  with  torches — torches  of  resin  to  give 
us  light —  Ah,  that  is  beautiful!  Listen,  listen  to 
what  he  sings!" 

And  she  sang  to  the  air  of  De  Projundis: 

"'Je  vais  etre  prince  d'Enfer, 
Mon  sceptre  est  un  manteau  de  fer 

Ce  sapin  brulant  est  mon  trone. 

Est  ma  robe  est  de  soufre  jaune; 
Mais  je  veux  t'epouser  demain: 
Viens,  Jeanne,  donne-mois  la  main.' 

"Is  it  not  singular,  my  good  General?"  said  she, 
when  she  had  finished;  "and  I — I  answer  him  every 
evening.  Listen  well  to  what  I  sing: 

'"Le  juge  a  parle*  dans  la  nuit, 
Et  dans  la  tombe  on  me  conduit, 
Pourtant  j'etais  ta  fiancee! 

[212] 


CINQ-MARS 

Viens!  la  pluie  est  longue  et  glacde; 
Mais  tu  ne  dormira  pas  seul, 
Je  te  pr£terai  mon  linceul.' 

Then  he  speaks  as  spirits  and  prophets  speak.  He 
says:  'Woe,  woe  to  him  who  has  shed  blood!  Are  the 
judges  of  the  earth  gods  ?  No,  they  are  men  who  grow 
old  and  suffer,  and  yet  they  dare  to  say  aloud,  Let 
that  man  die!  The  penalty  of  death,  the  pain  of 
death — who  has  given  to  man  the  right  of  imposing 
it  on  man?  Is  the  number  two?  One  would  be  an 
assassin,  look  you!  But  count  well,  one,  two,  three. 
Behold,  they  are  wise  and  just,  these  grave  and  sal- 
aried criminals!  O  crime,  the  horror  of  Heaven! 
If  you  looked  upon  them  from  above  as  I  look  upon 
them,  you  would  be  yet  paler  than  I  am.  Flesh  de- 
stroys flesh!  That  which  lives  by  blood  sheds  blood 
coldly  and  without  anger,  like  a  God  with  power  to 
create!'" 

The  cries  which  the  unhappy  girl  uttered,  as  she 
rapidly  spoke  these  words,  terrified  Richelieu  and 
Laubardemont  so  much  that  they  still  remained  mo- 
tionless. The  delirium  and  the  fever  continued  to 
transport  her. 

"'Did  the  judges  tremble?'  said  Urbain  Grandier 
to  me.  'Did  they  tremble  at  deceiving  themselves?' 
They  work  the  work  of  the  just.  The  question !  They 
bind  his  limbs  with  ropes  to  make  him  speak.  His 
skin  cracks,  tears  away,  and  rolls  up  like  a  parch- 
ment; his  nerves  are  naked,  red,  and  glittering;  his 
bones  crack;  the  marrow  spurts  out.  But  the  judges 
sleep!  they  dream  of  flowers  and  spring.  'How  hot 
[213] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

the  grand  chamber  is!'  says  one,  awaking;  'this  man 
has  not  chosen  to  speak!  Is  the  torture  finished?' 
And  pitiful  at  last,  he  dooms  him  to  death — death, 
the  sole  fear  of  the  living!  death,  the  unknown  world! 
He  sends  before  him  a  furious  soul  which  will  wait 
for  him.  Oh!  has  he  never  seen  the  vision  of  ven- 
geance ?  Has  he  never  seen  before  falling  asleep  the 
flayed  prevaricator?" 

Already  weakened  by  fever,  fatigue,  and  grief,  the 
Cardinal,  seized  with  horror  and  pity,  exclaimed: 

"Ah,  for  the  love  of  God,  let  this  terrible  scene 
have  an  end!  Take  away  this  woman;  she  is  mad!" 

The  frantic  creature  turned,  and  suddenly  uttering 
loud  cries,  "Ah,  the  judge!  the  judge!  the  judge!" 
she  said,  recognizing  Laubardemont. 

The  latter,  clasping  his  hands  and  trembling  before 
the  Cardinal,  said  with  terror: 

"Alas,  Monseigneur,  pardon  me!  she  is  my  niece, 
who  has  lost  her  reason.  I  was  not  aware  of  this  mis- 
fortune, or  she  would  have  been  shut  up  long  ago. 
Jeanne!  Jeanne!  come,  Madame,  to  your  knees!  ask 
forgiveness  of  Monseigneur  the  Cardinal-due." 

"It  is  Richelieu!"  she  cried;  and  astonishment 
seemed  wholly  to  paralyze  this  young  and  unhappy 
beauty.  The  flush  which  had  animated  her  at  first 
gave  place  to  a  deadly  pallor,  her  cries  to  a  motion- 
less silence,  her  wandering  looks  to  a  frightful  fixed- 
ness of  her  large  eyes,  which  constantly  followed  the 
agitated  minister. 

"Take  away  this  unfortunate  child  quickly,"  said 
he;  "she  is  dying,  and  so  am  I.  So  many  horrors 


CINQ-MARS 

pursue  me  since  that  sentence  that  I  believe  all  hell 
is  loosed  upon  me." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke;  Jeanne  de  Belfiel,  still  silent 
and  stupefied,  with  haggard  eyes,  open  mouth,  and 
head  bent  forward,  yet  remained  beneath  the  shock  of 
her  double  surprise,  which  seemed  to  have  extinguished 
the  rest  of  her  reason  and  her  strength.  At  the  move- 
ment of  the  Cardinal,  she  shuddered  to  find  herself 
between  him  and  Laubardemont,  looked  by  turns  at 
one  and  the  other,  let  the  knife  which  she  held  fall 
from  her  hand,  and  retired  slowly  toward  the  opening 
of  the  tent,  covering  herself  completely  with  her  veil, 
and  looking  wildly  and  with  terror  behind  her  upon 
her  uncle  who  followed,  like  an  affrighted  lamb,  which 
already  feels  at  its  back  the  burning  breath  of  the 
wolf  about  to  seize  it. 

Thus  they  both  went  forth;  and  hardly  had  they 
reached  the  open  air,  when  the  furious  judge  caught 
the  hands  of  his  victim,  tied  them  with  a  handkerchief, 
and  easily  led  her,  for  she  uttered  no  cry,  not  even  a 
sigh,  but  followed  him  with  her  head  still  drooping 
upon  her  bosom,  and  as  if  plunged  in  profound  som- 
nambulism. 


[215] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   SPANIARD 

Qu'un  ami  veritable  est  une  douce  chose! 
II  cherche  vos  besoins  au  fond  de  votre  coeur; 

II  vous  e"pargne  la  pudeur 

De  les  lui  de"couvrir  vous-meme. 

LA  FONTAINE. 

[EANTIME,  a  scene  of  different  na- 
ture was  passing  in  the  tent  of  Cinq- 
Mars;  the  words  of  the  King,  the 
first  balm  to  his  wounds,  had  been 
followed  by  the  anxious  care  of  the 
surgeons  of  the  court.  A  spent  ball, 
easily  extracted,  had  been  the  only 
cause  of  his  accident.  He  was  al- 
lowed to  travel;  and  all  was  ready.  The  invalid  had 
received  up  to  midnight  friendly  or  interested  visits; 
among  the  first  were  those  of  little  Gondi  and  of  Font- 
railles,  who  were  also  preparing  to  quit  Perpignan  for 
Paris.  The  ex-page,  Olivier  d'Entraigues,  joined  with 
them  in  complimenting  the  fortunate  volunteer,  whom 
the  King  seemed  to  have  distinguished.  The  habitual 
coldness  of  the  Prince  toward  all  who  surrounded  him 
having  caused  those  who  knew  of  them  to  regard  the 
few  words  he  had  spoken  as  assured  signs  of  high 
favor,  all  came  to  congratulate  him. 


CINQ-MARS 

At  length,  released  from  visitors,  he  lay  upon  his 
camp-bed.  De  Thou  sat  by  his  side,  holding  his 
hand,  and  Grandchamp  at  his  feet,  still  grumbling  at 
the  numerous  interruptions  that  had  fatigued  his 
wounded  master.  Cinq-Mars  himself  tasted  one  of 
those  moments  of  calm  and  hope,  which  so  refresh 
the  soul  as  well  as  the  body.  His  free  hand  secretly 
pressed  the  gold  cross  that  hung  next  to  his  heart, 
the  beloved  donor  of  which  he  was  so  soon  to  behold. 
Outwardly,  he  listened  with  kindly  looks  to  the  coun- 
sels of  the  young  magistrate;  but  his  inward  thoughts 
were  all  turned  toward  the  object  of  his  journey  — 
the  object,  also,  of  his  life.  The  grave  De  Thou  went 
on  in  a  calm,  gentle  voice: 

"I  shall  soon  follow  you  to  Paris.  I  am  happier 
than  you  at  seeing  the  King  take  you  there  with  him. 
You  are  right  in  looking  upon  it  as  the  beginning  of 
a  friendship  which  must  be  turned  to  profit.  I  have 
reflected  deeply  on  the  secret  causes  of  your  ambition, 
and  I  think  I  have  divined  your  heart.  Yes;  that 
feeling  of  love  for  France,  which  made  it  beat  in  your 
earliest  youth,  must  have  gained  greater  strength.  You 
would  be  near  the  King  in  order  to  serve  your  country, 
in  order  to  put  in  action  those  golden  dreams  of  your 
early  years.  The  thought  is  a  vast  one,  and  worthy 
of  you!  I  admire  you;  I  bow  before  you.  To  ap- 
proach the  monarch  with  the  chivalrous  devotion  of 
our  fathers,  with  a  heart  full  of  candor,  and  prepared 
for  any  sacrifice;  to  receive  the  confidences  of  his 
soul;  to  pour  into  his  those  of  his  subjects;  to  soften 
the  sorrows  of  the  King  by  telling  him  the  confidence 
[217] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

his  people  have  in  him;  to  cure  the  wounds  of  the 
people  by  laying  them  open  to  its  master,  and  by  the 
intervention  of  your  favor  thus  to  reestablish  that 
intercourse  of  love  between  the  father  and  his  children 
which  for  eighteen  years  has  been  interrupted  by  a 
man  whose  heart  is  marble;  for  this  noble  enterprise, 
to  expose  yourself  to  all  the  horrors  of  his  vengeance 
and,  what  is  even  worse,  to  brave  all  the  perfidious 
calumnies  which  pursue  the  favorite  to  the  very  steps 
of  the  throne — this  dream  was  worthy  of  you. 

"Pursue  it,  my  friend,"  De  Thou  continued.  "Nev- 
er become  discouraged.  Speak  loudly  to  the  King 
of  the  merit  and  misfortunes  of  his  most  illustrious 
friends  who  are  trampled  on.  Tell  him  fearlessly 
that  his  old  nobility  have  never  conspired  against 
him;  and  that  from  the  young  Montmorency  to  the 
amiable  Comte  de  Soissons,  all  have  opposed  the 
minister,  and  never  the  monarch.  Tell  him  that  the 
old  families  of  France  were  born  with  his  race ;  that  in 
striking  them  he  affects  the  whole  nation;  and  that, 
should  he  destroy  them,  his  own  race  will  suffer,  that 
it  will  stand  alone  exposed  to  the  blast  of  time  and 
events,  as  an  old  oak  trembling  and  exposed  to  the 
wind  of  the  plain,  when  the  forest  which  surrounded 
and  supported  it  has  been  destroyed.  Yes!"  cried 
De  Thou,  growing  animated,  "this  aim  is  a  fine  and 
noble  one.  Go  on  in  your  course  with  a  resolute  step; 
expel  even  that  secret  shame,  that  shyness,  which  a 
noble  soul  experiences  before  it  can  resolve  upon  flat- 
tering— upon  paying  what  the  world  calls  its  court. 
Alas,  kings  are  accustomed  to  these  continual  expres- 
[218] 


CINQ-MARS 

sions  of  false  admiration  for  them!  Look  upon  them 
as  a  new  language  which  must  be  learned — a  language 
hitherto  foreign  to  your  lips,  but  which,  believe  me, 
may  be  nobly  spoken,  and  which  may  express  high 
and  generous  thoughts." 

During  this  warm  discourse  of  his  friend,  Cinq- 
Mars  could  not  refrain  from  a  sudden  blush;  and  he 
turned  his  head  on  his  pillow  toward  the  tent,  so  that 
his  face  might  not  be  seen.  De  Thou  stopped: 

"What  is  the  matter,  Henri?  You  do  not  answer. 
Am  I  deceived?" 

Cinq-Mars  gave  a  deep  sigh  and  remained  silent. 

"Is  not  your  heart  affected  by  these  ideas  which  I 
thought  would  have  transported  it?" 

The  wounded  man  looked  more  calmly  at  his  friend 
and  said: 

"I  thought,  my  dear  De  Thou,  that  you  would  not 
interrogate  me  further,  and  that  you  were  willing  to 
repose  a  blind  confidence  in  me.  What  evil  genius 
has  moved  you  thus  to  sound  my  soul?  I  am  not  a 
stranger  to  these  ideas  which  possess  you.  Who  told 
you  that  I  had  not  conceived  them?  Who  told  you 
that  I  had  not  formed  the  firm  resolution  of  prosecut- 
ing them  infinitely  farther  in  action  than  you  have 
put  them  in  words  ?  Love  for  France,  virtuous  hatred 
of  the  ambition  which  oppresses  and  shatters  her 
ancient  institutions  with  the  axe  of  the  executioner, 
the  firm  belief  that  virtue  may  be  as  skilful  as  crime, 
— these  are  my  gods  as  much  as  yours.  But  when 
you  see  a  man  kneeling  in  a  church,  do  you  ask  him 
what  saint  or  what  angel  protects  him  and  receives 
[219] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

his  prayer?  What  matters  it  to  you,  provided  that  he 
pray  at  the  foot  of  the  altars  that  you  adore — provided 
that,  if  called  upon,  he  fall  a  martyr  at  the  foot  of 
those  altars?  When  our  forefathers  journeyed  with 
naked  feet  toward  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  with  pilgrims' 
staves  in  their  hands,  did  men  inquire  the  secret  vow 
which  led  them  to  the  Holy  Land?  They  struck, 
they  died;  and  men,  perhaps  God  himself,  asked  no 
more.  The  pious  captain  who  led  them  never  stripped 
their  bodies  to  see  whether  the  red  cross  and  haircloth 
concealed  any  other  mysterious  symbol;  and  in  heav- 
en, doubtless,  they  were  not  judged  with  any  greater 
rigor  for  having  aided  the  strength  of  their  resolutions 
upon  earth  by  some  hope  permitted  to  a  Christian 
— some  second  and  secret  thought,  more  human,  and 
nearer  the  mortal  heart." 

De  Thou  smiled  and  slightly  blushed,  lowering  his  eyes. 

"My  friend,"  he  answered,  gravely;  "this  excite- 
ment may  be  injurious  to  you.  Let  us  not  continue 
this  subject;  let  us  not  mingle  God  and  heaven  in  our 
discourse.  It  is  not  well;  and  draw  the  coverings 
over  your  shoulder,  for  the  night  is  cold.  I  promise 
you,"  he  added,  covering  his  young  invalid  with  a 
maternal  care — "I  promise  not  to  offend  you  again 
with  my  counsels." 

"And  I,"  cried  Cinq-Mars,  despite  the  interdiction 
to  speak,  "swear  to  you  by  this  gold  cross  you  see, 
and  by  the  Holy  Mary,  to  die  rather  than  renounce 
the  plan  that  you  first  traced  out !  You  may  one  day, 
perhaps,  be  forced  to  pray  me  to  stop;  but  then  it 
will  be  too  late." 

[  22°] 


CINQ-MARS 

"Very  well!"  repeated  the  counsellor,  "now  sleep; 
if  you  do  not  stop,  I  will  go  on  with  you,  wherever 
you  lead  me." 

And,  taking  a  prayer-book  from  his  pocket,  he  began 
to  read  attentively;  in  a  short  time  he  looked  at  Cinq- 
Mars,  who  was  still  awake.  He  made  a  sign  to  Grand- 
champ  to  put  the  lamp  out  of  sight  of  the  invalid ;  but 
this  new  care  succeeded  no  better.  The  latter,  with  his 
eyes  still  open,  tossed  restlessly  on  his  narrow  bed. 

"Come,  you  are  not  calm,"  said  De  Thou,  smiling; 
"I  will  read  to  you  some  pious  passage  which  will  put 
your  mind  in  repose.  Ah,  my  friend,  it  is  here  that 
true  repose  is  to  be  found;  it  is  in  this  consolatory 
book,  for,  open  it  where  you  will,  you  will  always  see, 
on  the  one  hand,  man  in  the  only  condition  that  suits 
his  weakness — prayer,  and  the  uncertainty  as  to  his 
destiny — and,  on  the  other,  God  himself  speaking  to 
him  of  his  infirmities!  What  a  glorious  and  heavenly 
spectacle!  What  a  sublime  bond  between  heaven  and 
earth!  Life,  death,  and  eternity  are  there;  open  it 
at  random." 

"Yes!"  said  Cinq-Mars,  rising  with  a  vivacity 
which  had  something  boyish  in  it;  "you  shall  read  to 
me,  but  let  me  open  the  book.  You  know  the  old 
superstition  of  our  country — when  the  mass-book  is 
opened  with  a  sword,  the  first  page  on  the  left  contains 
the  destiny  of  him  who  reads,  and  the  first  person 
who  enters  after  he  has  read  is  powerfully  to  influence 
the  reader's  future  fate." 

"  What  childishness !  But  be  it  as  you  will.  Here  is 
your  sword;  insert  the  point.  Let  us  see." 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"Let  me  read  myself,"  said  Cinq-Mars,  taking  one 
side  of  the  book.  Old  Grandchamp  gravely  advanced 
his  tawny  face  and  his  gray  hair  to  the  foot  of  the 
bed  to  listen.  His  master  read,  stopped  at  the  first 
phrase,  but  with  a  smile,  perhaps  slightly  forced,  he 
went  on  the  the  end. 

"I.  Now  it  was  in  the  city  of  Milan  that  they  appeared. 

"II.  The  high-priest  said  to  them,  'Bow  down  and  adore  the 
gods.' 

"III.  And  the  people  were  silent,  looking  at  their  faces,  which 
appeared  as  the  faces  of  angels. 

"IV.  But  Gervais,  taking  the  hand  of  Protais,  cried,  looking 
to  heaven,  and  filled  with  the  Holy  Ghost: 

"V.  Oh,  my  brother!  I  see  the  Son  of  man  smiling  upon  us; 
let  me  die  first. 

"VI.  For  if  I  see  thy  blood,  I  fear  I  shall  shed  tears  unworthy 
of  the  Lord  our  God. 

"VII.  Then  Protais  answered  him  in  these  words: 

"VIII.  My  brother,  it  is  just  that  I  should  perish  after  thee, 
for  I  am  older,  and  have  more  strength  to  see  thee  suffer. 

"IX.  But  the  senators  and  people  ground  their  teeth  at  them. 

"X.  And  the  soldiers  having  struck  them,  their  heads  fell 
together  on  the  same  stone. 

"XI.  Now  it  was  in  this  same  place  that  the  blessed  Saint 
Ambroise  found  the  ashes  of  the  two  martyrs  which  gave  sight 
to  the  blind." 

"Well,"  said  Cinq-Mars,  looking  at  his  friend  when 
he  had  finished,  "what  do  you  say  to  that?" 

"God's  will  be  done!  but  we  should  not  scrutinize 
it." 

"Nor  put  off  our  designs  for  a  child's  play,"  said 
D'Effiat  impatiently,  and  wrapping  himself  in  a  cloak 

[222] 


CINQ-MARS 

which  was  thrown  over  him.  "Remember  the  lines 
we  formerly  so  frequently  quoted,  'Justum  et  tenacem 
propositi  virum';  these  iron  words  are  stamped  upon 
my  brain.  Yes;  let  the  universe  crumble  around  me, 
its  wreck  shall  carry  me  away  still  resolute." 

"Let  us  not  compare  the  thoughts  of  man  with 
those  of  Heaven;  and  let  us  be  submissive,"  said  De 
Thou,  gravely. 

"Amen!"  said  old  Grandchamp,  whose  eyes  had 
£lled  with  tears,  which  he  hastily  brushed  away. 

"What  hast  thou  to  do  with  it,  old  soldier?  Thou 
weepest,"  said  his  master. 

"Amen!"  said  a  voice,  in  a  nasal  tone,  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  tent. 

"Parbleu,  Monsieur!  rather  put  that  question  to  his 
Gray  Eminence,  who  comes  to  visit  you,"  answered 
the  faithful  servant,  pointing  to  Joseph,  who  advanced 
with  his  arms  crossed,  making  a  salutation  with  a 
frowning  air. 

"Ah,  it  will  be  he,  then!"  murmured  Cinq-Mars. 

"Perhaps  I  come  inopportunely,"  said  Joseph, 
soothingly. 

"Perhaps  very  opportunely,"  said  Henri  d'Efnat, 
smiling,  with  a  glance  at  De  Thou.  "What  can  bring 
you  here,  Father,  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning?  It 
should  be  some  good  work." 

Joseph  saw  he  was  ill-received;  and  as  he  had 
always  sundry  reproaches  to  make  himself  with  ref- 
erence to  all  persons  whom  he  addressed,  and  as  many 
resources  in  his  mind  for  getting  out  of  the  difficulty, 
he  fancied  that  they  had  discovered  the  object  of  his 
[223] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

visit,  and  felt  that  he  should  not  select  a  moment  of 
ill  humor  for  preparing  the  way  to  friendship.  There- 
fore, seating  himself  near  the  bed,  he  said,  coldly: 

"I  come,  Monsieur,  to  speak  to  you  on  the  part  of 
the  Cardinal- Generalissimo,  of  the  two  Spanish  pris- 
oners you  have  made;  he  desires  to  have  information 
concerning  them  as  soon  as  possible.  I  am  to  see  and 
question  them.  But  I  did  not  suppose  you  were  still 
awake;  I  merely  wished  to  receive  them  from  your 
people." 

After  a  forced  interchange  of  politeness,  they  ordered 
into  the  tent  the  two  prisoners,  whom  Cinq-Mars  had 
almost  forgotten. 

They  appeared — the  one,  young  and  displaying  an 
animated  and  rather  wild  countenance,  was  the  soldier; 
the  other,  concealing  his  form  under  a  brown  cloak, 
and  his  gloomy  features,  which  had  something  am- 
biguous in  their  expression,  under  his  broad-brimmed 
hat,  which  he  did  not  remove,  was  the  officer.  He 
spoke  first : 

"Why  do  you  make  me  leave  my  straw  and  my 
sleep?  Is  it  to  deliver  me  or  hang  me?" 

"Neither,"  said  Joseph. 

"What  have  I  to  do  with  thee,  man  with  the  long 
beard?  I  did  not  see  thee  at  the  breach." 

It  took  some  time  after  this  amiable  exordium  to 
make  the  stranger  understand  the  right  a  Capuchin 
had  to  interrogate  him. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "what  dost  thou  want?" 

"I  would  know  your  name  and  your  country." 

"I  shall  not  tell  my  name;  and  as  for  my  country, 
[224] 


CINQ-MARS 

I  have  the  air  of  a  Spaniard,  but  perhaps  am  not  one, 
for  a  Spaniard  never  acknowledges  his  country." 

Father  Joseph,  turning  toward  the  two  friends,  said : 
"Unless  I  deceive  myself,  I  have  heard  his  voice  some- 
where. This  man  speaks  French  without  an  accent; 
but  it  seems  he  wishes  to  give  us  enigmas,  as  in  the 
East." 

"The  East?  that  is  it,"  said  the  prisoner.  "A 
Spaniard  is  a  man  from  the  East;  he  is  a  Catholic 
Turk;  his  blood  either  flags  or  boils;  he  is  lazy  or 
indefatigable;  indolence  makes  him  a  slave,  ardor  a 
tyrant;  immovable  in  his  ignorance,  ingenious  in  his 
superstition,  he  needs  only  a  religious  book  and  a 
tyrannical  master;  he  obeys  the  law  of  the  pyre;  he 
commands  by  that  of  the  poniard.  At  night  he  falls 
asleep  in  his  bloodthirsty  misery,  nurses  fanaticism, 
and  awakes  to  crime.  Who  is  this  gentleman?  Is  it 
the  Spaniard  or  the  Turk?  Guess!  Ah!  you  seem  to 
think  that  I  have  wit,  because  I  light  upon  analogy. 

"Truly,  gentlemen,  you  do  me  honor;  and  yet  the 
idea  may  be  carried  much  further,  if  desired.  If  I  pass 
to  the  physical  order,  for  example,  may  I  not  say  to  you, 
This  man  has  long  and  serious  features,  a  black  and 
almond-shaped  eye,  rugged  brows,  a  sad  and  mobile 
mouth,  tawny,  meagre,  and  wrinkled  cheeks;  his  head 
is  shaved,  and  he  covers  it  with  a  black  handkerchief 
in  the  form  of  a  turban;  he  passes  the  whole  day  lying 
or  standing  under  a  burning  sun,  without  motion, 
without  utterance,  smoking  a  pipe  that  intoxicates  him. 
Is  this  a  Turk  or  a  Spaniard?  Are  you  satisfied, 
gentlemen  ?  Truly,  it  would  seem  so ;  you  laugh,  and 
'5  [225] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

at  what  do  you  laugh?  I,  who  have  presented  this 
idea  to  you — I  have  not  laughed ;  see,  my  countenance 
is  sad.  Ah !  perhaps  it  is  because  the  gloomy  prisoner 
has  suddenly  become  a  gossip,  and  talks  rapidly. 
That  is  nothing!  I  might  tell  you  other  things,  and 
render  you  some  service,  my  worthy  friends. 

"If  I  should  relate  anecdotes,  for  example;  if  I  told 
you  I  knew  a  priest  who  ordered  the  death  of  some  her- 
etics before  saying  mass,  and  who,  furious  at  being  in- 
terrupted at  the  altar  during  the  holy  sacrifice,  cried 
to  those  who  asked  for  his  orders, '  Kill  them  all !  kill 
them  all!' — should  you  all  laugh,  gentlemen?  No,  not 
all!  This  gentleman  here,  for  instance,  would  bite 
his  lips  and  his  beard.  Oh !  it  is  true  he  might  answer 
that  he  did  wisely,  and  that  they  were  wrong  to  inter- 
rupt his  unsullied  prayer.  But  if  I  added  that  he 
concealed  himself  for  an  hour  behind  the  curtain  of 
your  tent,  Monsieur  de  Cinq-Mars,  to  listen  while  you 
talked,  and  that  he  came  to  betray  you,  and  not  to 
get  me,  what  would  he  say?  Now,  gentlemen,  are 
you  satisfied?  May  I  retire  after  this  display?" 

The  prisoner  had  uttered  this  with  the  rapidity  of  a 
quack  vending  his  wares,  and  in  so  loud  a  voice  that 
Joseph  was  quite  confounded.  He  arose  indignantly 
at  last,  and,  addressing  himself  to  Cinq-Mars,  said: 

"How  can  you  suffer  a  prisoner  who  should  have 
been  hanged  to  speak  to  you  thus,  Monsieur?" 

The  Spaniard,  without  deigning  to  notice  him  any 
further,  leaned  toward  D'Efnat,  and  whispered  in  his 
ear: 

"I  can  be  of  no  further  use  to  you;  give  me  my 
[226] 


CINQ-MARS 

liberty.  I  might  ere  this  have  taken  it;  but  I  would 
not  do  so  without  your  consent.  Give  it  me,  or  have 
me  killed." 

"Go,  if  you  will!"  said  Cinq-Mars  to  him.  "I 
assure  you  I  shall  be  very  glad;"  and  he  told  his  people 
to  retire  with  the  soldier,  whom  he  wished  to  keep  in 
his  service. 

This  was  the  affair  of  a  moment.  No  one  remained 
any  longer  in  the  tent  with  the  two  friends,  except  the 
abashed  Joseph  and  the  Spaniard.  The  latter,  taking 
off  his  hat,  showed  a  French  but  savage  countenance. 
He  laughed,  and  seemed  to  respire  more  air  into  his 
broad  chest. 

"  Yes,  I  am  a  Frenchman, "  he  said  to  Joseph.  "  But 
I  hate  France,  because  she  gave  birth  to  my  father, 
who  is  a  monster,  and  to  me,  who  have  become  one, 
and  who  once  struck  him.  I  hate  her  inhabitants, 
because  they  have  robbed  me  of  my  whole  fortune  at 
play,  and  because  I  have  robbed  them  and  killed  them. 
I  have  been  two  years  in  Spain  in  order  to  kill  more 
Frenchmen;  but  now  I  hate  Spain  still  more.  No 
one  will  know  the  reason  why.  Adieu!  I  must  live 
henceforth  without  a  nation;  all  men  are  my  enemies. 
Go  on,  Joseph,  and  you  will  soon  be  as  good  as  I.  Yes, 
you  have  seen  me  once  before,"  he  continued,  violently 
striking  him  in  the  breast  and  throwing  him  down. 
"I  am  Jacques  de  Laubardemont,  the  son  of  your 
worthy  friend." 

With  these  words,  quickly  leaving  the  tent,  he  dis- 
appeared like  an  apparition.  De  Thou  and  the  ser- 
vants, who  ran  to  the  entrance,  saw  him,  with  two 
[227] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

bounds,  spring  over  a  surprised  and  disarmed  soldier, 
and  run  toward  the  mountains  with  the  swiftness  of 
a  deer,  despite  various  musket-shots.  Joseph  took 
advantage  of  the  disorder  to  slip  away,  stammering  a 
few  words  of  politeness,  and  left  the  two  friends 
laughing  at  his  adventure  and  his  disappointment,  as 
two  schoolboys  laugh  at  seeing  the  spectacles  of  their 
pedagogue  fall  off.  At  last  they  prepared  to  seek  a 
rest  of  which  they  both  stood  in  need,  and  which  they 
soon  found — the  wounded  man  in  his  bed,  and  the 
young  counsellor  in  his  chair. 

As  for  the  Capuchin,  he  walked  toward  his  tent, 
meditating  how  he  should  turn  all  this  so  as  to  take 
the  greatest  possible  revenge,  when  he  met  Laubarde- 
mont  dragging  the  young  mad-woman  by  her  two 
hands.  They  recounted  to  each  other  their  mutual 
and  horrible  adventures. 

Joseph  had  no  small  pleasure  in  turning  the  poniard 
in  the  wound  of  his  friend's  heart,  by  telling  him  of 
the  fate  of  his  son. 

"You  are  not  exactly  happy  in  your  domestic  rela- 
tions," he  added.  "I  advise  you  to  shut  up  your 
niece  and  hang  your  son,  if  you  are  fortunate  enough 
to  find  him." 

Laubardemont  replied  with  a  hideous  laugh : 

"As  for  this  idiot  here,  I  am  going  to  give  her  to  an 
ex-secret  judge,  at  present  a  smuggler  in  the  Pyrenees 
at  Oleron.  He  can  do  what  he  pleases  with  her — 
make  her  a  servant  in  his  posada,  for  instance.  I  care 
not,  so  that  my  lord  never  hears  of  her." 

Jeanne  de  Belfiel,  her  head  hanging  down,  gave  no 
[228] 


CINQ-MARS 

sign  of  sensibility.  Every  glimmer  of  reason  was  ex- 
tinguished in  her;  one  word  alone  remained  upon 
her  lips,  and  this  she  continually  pronounced. 

"The  judge!  the  judge!  the  judge!"  she  murmured, 
and  was  silent. 

Her  uncle  and  Joseph  threw  her,  almost  like  a  sack 
of  corn,  on  one  of  the  horses  which  were  led  up  by 
two  servants.  Laubardemont  mounted  another,  and 
prepared  to  leave  the  camp,  wishing  to  get  into  the 
mountains  before  day. 

"A  good  journey  to  you!"  he  said  to  Joseph.  "Ex- 
ecute your  business  well  in  Paris.  I  commend  to  you 
Orestes  and  Pylades." 

"A  good  journey  to  you!"  answered  the  other.  "I 
commend  to  you  Cassandra  and  CEdipus." 

"  Oh!  he  has  neither  killed  his  father  nor  married  his 
mother." 

"But  he  is  on  the  high-road  to  those  little  pleas- 
antries." 

"Adieu,  my  reverend  Father!" 

"Adieu,  my  venerable  friend!" 

Then  each  added  aloud,  but  in  suppressed  tones: 

"Adieu,  assassin  of  the  gray  robe!  During  thy 
absence  I  shall  have  the  ear  of  the  Cardinal." 

"Adieu,  villain  in  the  red  robe!  Go  thyself  and 
destroy  thy  cursed  family.  Finish  shedding  that  por- 
tion of  thy  blood  that  is  in  others'  veins.  That  share 
which  remains  in  thee,  I  will  take  charge  of.  Ha!  a 
well-employed  night!" 


[229] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   RIOT 

Le  danger,  Sire,  est  pressant  et  universel,  et  au  dela  de  tous 
les  calculs  de  la  prudence  humaine. — MIRABEAU,  Adresse  au  Roi. 

HUS  with  imagin'd  wing  our  swift  scene  flies, 
In  motion  of  no  less  celerity 
Than  that  of  thought," 

exclaims  the  immortal  Shakespeare  in 
the  chorus  of  one  of  his  tragedies. 

"  Suppose  that  you  have  seen 

The  well-appointed  king 
Embark  his  royalty;  and  his  brave  fleet 
With  silken  streamers  the  young  Phoebus  fanning. 

.  .  .  behold, 
And  follow." 

With  this  poetic  movement  he  traverses  time  and 
space,  and  transports  at  will  the  attentive  assembly 
to  the  theatre  of  his  sublime  scenes. 

We  shall  avail  ourselves  of  the  same  privilege,  though 
without  the  same  genius.  No  more  than  he  shall  we 
seat  ourselves  upon  the  tripod  of  the  unities,  but 
merely  casting  our  eyes  upon  Paris  and  the  old  dark 
palace  of  the  Louvre,  we  will  at  once  pass  over  the 
[230] 


CINQ-MARS 

space  of  two  hundred  leagues  and  the  period  of  two 
years. 

Two  years!  what  changes  may  they  not  have  upon 
men,  upon  their  families,  and,  above  all,  in  that  great 
and  so  troublous  family  of  nations,  whose  long  al- 
liances a  single  day  suffices  to  destroy,  whose  wars  are 
ended  by  a  birth,  whose  peace  is  broken  by  a  death! 
We  ourselves  have  beheld  kings  returning  to  their 
dwelling  on  a  spring  day;  that  same  day  a  vessel 
sailed  for  a  voyage  of  two  years.  The  navigator  re- 
turned. The  kings  were  seated  upon  their  thrones; 
nothing  seemed  to  have  taken  place  in  his  absence, 
and  yet  God  had  deprived  those  kings  of  a  hundred 
days  of  their  reign. 

But  nothing  was  changed  for  France  in  1642,  the 
epoch  to  which  we  turn,  except  her  fears  and  her 
hopes.  The  future  alone  had  changed  its  aspect. 
Before  again  beholding  our  personages,  we  must  con- 
template at  large  the  state  of  the  kingdom. 

The  powerful  unity  of  the  monarchy  was  rendered 
still  more  imposing  by  the  misfortunes  of  the  neigh- 
boring States.  The  revolutions  in  England,  and  those 
in  Spain  and  Portugal,  rendered  the  peace  which 
France  enjoyed  still  more  admired.  Strafford  and  Oli- 
vares,  overthrown  or  defeated,  aggrandized  the  immo- 
vable Richelieu. 

Six  formidable  armies,  reposing  upon  their  trium- 
phant weapons,  served  as  a  rampart  to  the  kingdom. 
Those  of  the  north,  in  league  with  Sweden,  had  put 
the  Imperialists  to  flight,  still  pursued  by  the  spirit 
of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  those  on  the  frontiers  of  Italy 
[231] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

had  in  Piedmont  received  the  keys  of  the  towns  which 
had  been  defended  by  Prince  Thomas;  and  those 
which  strengthened  the  chain  of  the  Pyrenees  held  in 
check  revolted  Catalonia,  and  chafed  before  Perpignan, 
which  they  were  not  allowed  to  take.  The  interior 
was  not  happy,  but  tranquil.  An  invisible  genius 
seemed  to  have  maintained  this  calm,  for  the  King, 
mortally  sick,  languished  at  St.-Germain  with  a  young 
favorite;  and  the  Cardinal  was,  they  said,  dying  at 
Narbonne.  Some  deaths,  however,  betrayed  that  he 
yet  lived ;  and  at  intervals,  men  falling  as  if  struck  by  a 
poisonous  blast  recalled  to  mind  the  invisible  power. 

St.-Preuil,  one  of  Richelieu's  enemies,  had  just  laid 
his  "iron  head"  upon  the  scaffold  without  shame  or 
fear,  as  he  himself  said  on  mounting  it. 

Meantime,  France  seemed  to  govern  herself,  for  the 
prince  and  the  minister  had  been  separated  a  long 
time;  and  of  these  two  sick  men,  who  hated  each 
other,  one  never  had  held  the  reins  of  State,  the  other 
no  longer  showed  his  power— he  was  no  longer  named 
in  the  public  acts;  he  appeared  no  longer  in  the 
government, and  seemed  effaced  everywhere;  he  slept, 
like  the  spider  surrounded  by  his  webs. 

If  some  events  and  some  revolutions  had  taken 
place  during  these  two  years,  it  must  have  been  in 
hearts;  it  must  have  been  some  of  those  occult  changes 
from  which,  in  monarchies  without  firm  foundation, 
terrible  overthrows  and  long  and  bloody  dissensions 
arise. 

To  enlighten  ourselves,  let  us  glance  at  the  old 
black  building  of  the  unfinished  Louvre,  and  listen 
[232] 


CINQ-MARS 

to  the  conversation  of  those  who  inhabited  it  and  those 
who  surrounded  it. 

It  was  the  month  of  December;  a  rigorous  winter 
had  afflicted  Paris,  where  the  misery  and  inquietude 
of  the  people  were  extreme.  However,  curiosity  was 
still  alive,  and  they  were  eager  for  the  spectacles  given 
by  the  court.  Their  poverty  weighed  less  heavily 
upon  them  while  they  contemplated  the  agitations  of 
the  rich.  Their  tears  were  less  bitter  on  beholding 
the  struggles  of  power;  and  the  blood  of  the  nobles 
which  reddened  their  streets,  and  seemed  the  only 
blood  worthy  of  being  shed,  made  them  bless  their 
own  obscurity.  Already  had  tumultuous  scenes  and 
conspicuous  assassinations  proved  the  monarch's  weak- 
ness, the  absence  and  approaching  end  of  the  minis- 
ter, and,  as  a  kind  of  prologue  to  the  bloody  comedy 
of  the  Fronde,  sharpened  the  malice  and  even  fired 
the  passions  of  the  Parisians.  This  confusion  was 
not  displeasing  to  them.  Indifferent  to  the  causes  of 
the  quarrels  which  were  abstruse  for  them,  they  were 
not  so  with  regard  to  individuals,  and  already  began 
to  regard  the  party  chiefs  with  affection  or  hatred, 
not  on  account  of  the  interest  which  they  supposed 
them  to  take  in  the  welfare  of  their  class,  but  simply 
because  as  actors  they  pleased  or  displeased. 

One  night,  especially,  pistol-  and  gun-shots  had  been 
heard  frequently  in  the  city;  the  numerous  patrols 
of  the  Swiss  and  the  body-guards  had  even  been 
attacked,  and  had  met  with  some  barricades  in  the 
tortuous  streets  of  the  He  Notre-Dame ;  carts  chained 
to  the  posts,  and  laden  with  barrels,  prevented  the 
[233] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

cavaliers  from  advancing,  and  some  musket-shots  had 
wounded  several  men  and  horses.  However,  the  town 
still  slept,  except  the  quarter  which  surrounded  the 
Louvre,  which  was  at  this  time  inhabited  by  the 
Queen  and  M.  le  Due  d'Orleans.  There  everything 
announced  a  nocturnal  expedition  of  a  very  serious 
nature. 

It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  It  was  freezing, 
and  the  darkness  was  intense,  when  a  numerous  as- 
semblage stopped  upon  the  quay,  which  was  then 
hardly  paved,  and  slowly  and  by  degrees  occupied 
the  sandy  ground  that  sloped  down  to  the  Seine. 
This  troop  was  composed  of  about  two  hundred  men; 
they  were  wrapped  in  large  cloaks,  raised  by  the  long 
Spanish  swords  which  they  wore.  Walking  to  and 
fro  without  preserving  any  order,  they  seemed  to  wait 
for  events  rather  than  to  seek  them.  Many  seated 
themselves,  with  their  arms  folded,  upon  the  loose 
stones  of  the  newly  begun  parapet;  they  preserved 
perfect  silence.  However,  after  a  few  minutes  passed 
in  this  manner,  a  man,  who  appeared  to  come  out 
of  one  of  the  vaulted  doors  of  the  Louvre,  approached 
slowly,  holding  a  dark-lantern,  the  light  from  which 
he  turned  upon  the  features  of  each  individual,  and 
which  he  blew  out  after  finding  the  man  he  sought 
among  them.  He  spoke  to  him  in  a  whisper,  taking 
him  by  the  hand: 

"Well,  Olivier,  what  did  Monsieur  le  Grand  say 
to  you?  *  Does  all  go  well?" 

*  The  master  of  the  horse,  Cinq-Mars,  was  thus  named  by  abbrevi- 
ation. This  name  will  often  occur  in  the  course  of  the  recital. 


CINQ-MARS 

"Yes,  I  saw  him  yesterday  at  Saint- Germain.  The 
old  cat  is  very  ill  at  Narbonne;  he  is  going  ad  patres. 
But  we  must  manage  our  affairs  shrewdly,  for  it  is 
not  the  first  time  that  he  has  played  the  torpid.  Have 
you  people  enough  for  this  evening,  my  dear  Fon- 
trailles?" 

"Be  easy;  Montresor  is  coming  with  a  hundred  of 
Monsieur's  gentlemen.  You  will  recognize  him;  he 
will  be  disguised  as  a  master-mason,  with  a  rule  in 
his  hand.  But,  above  all,  do  not  forget  the  pass- 
words. Do  you  know  them  all  well,  you  and  your 
friends?" 

"Yes,  all  except  the  Abbe  de  Gondi,  who  has  not 
yet  arrived ;  but  Dieu  me  pardonne,  I  think  he  is  there 
himself!  Who  the  devil  would  have  known  him?" 

And  here  a  little  man  without  a  cassock,  dressed  as 
a  soldier  of  the  French  guards,  and  wearing  a  very 
black  false  moustache,  slipped  between  them.  He 
danced  about  with  a  joyous  air,  and  rubbed  his  hands. 

"Vive  Dieu!  all  goes  on  well,  my  friend.  Fiesco 
could  not  do  better;"  and  rising  upon  his  toes  to  tap 
Olivier  upon  the  shoulder,  he  continued: 

"Do  you  know  that  for  a  man  who  has  just  quitted 
the  rank  of  pages,  you  don't  manage  badly,  Sire 
Olivier  d'Entraigues  ?  and  you  will  be  among  our 
illustrious  men  if  we  find  a  Plutarch.  All  is  well 
organized;  you  arrive  at  the  very  moment,  neither 
too  soon  nor  too  late,  like  a  true  party  chief.  Fon- 
trailles,  this  young  man  will  get  on,  I  prophesy.  But 
we  must  make  haste;  in  two  hours  we  shall  have 
some  of  the  archbishops  of  Paris,  my  uncle's  parish- 
[235] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

loners.  I  have  instructed  them  well;  and  they  will 
cry,  'Long  live  Monsieur!  Long  live  the  Regency!  No 
more  of  the  Cardinal!'  like  madmen.  They  are  good 
devotees,  thanks  to  me,  who  have  stirred  them  up. 
The  King  is  very  ill.  Oh,  all  goes  well,  very  well! 
I  come  from  Saint-Germain.  I  have  seen  our  friend 
Cinq-Mars;  he  is  good,  very  good,  still  firm  as  a  rock. 
Ah,  that  is  what  I  call  a  man!  How  he  has  played 
with  them  with  his  careless  and  melancholy  air!  He 
is  master  of  the  court  at  present.  The  King,  they 
say,  is  going  to  make  him  duke  and  peer.  It  is  much 
talked  of;  but  he  still  hesitates.  We  must  decide  that 
by  our  movement  this  evening.  The  will  of  the  people ! 
He  must  do  the  will  of  the  people;  we  will  make  him 
hear  it.  It  will  be  the  death  of  Richelieu,  you'll  see. 
It  is,  above  all,  hatred  of  him  which  is  to  predom- 
inate in  the  cries,  for  that  is  the  essential  thing.  That 
will  at  last  decide  our  Gaston,  who  is  still  uncertain, 
is  he  not?" 

"And  how  can  he  be  anything  else?"  said  Fon- 
trailles.  "If  he  were  to  take  a  resolution  to-day  in 
our  favor  it  would  be  unfortunate." 

"Why  so?" 

"Because  we  should  be  sure  that  to-morrow  morn- 
ing he  would  be  against  us." 

"Never  mind,"  replied  the  Abbe";  "the  Queen  is 
firm." 

"And  she  has  heart  also,"  said  Olivier;  "that  gives 
me  some  hope  for  Cinq-Mars,  who,  it  seems  to  me, 
has  sometimes  dared  to  frown  when  he  looked  at 
her," 

[236] 


CINQ.  MARS 

"Child  that  you  are,  how  little  do  you  yet  know  of 
the  court!  Nothing  can  sustain  him  but  the  hand  of 
the  King,  who  loves  him  as  a  son;  and  as  for  the 
Queen,  if  her  heart  beats,  it  is  for  the  past  and  not 
for  the  future.  But  these  trifles  are  not  to  the  pur- 
pose. Tell  me,  dear  friend,  are  you  sure  of  your 
young  Advocate  whom  I  see  roaming  about  there? 
Is  he  all  right?" 

"Perfectly;  he  is  an  excellent  Royalist.  He  would 
throw  the  Cardinal  into  the  river  in  an  instant.  Be- 
sides, it  is  Fournier  of  Loudun;  that  is  saying  every- 
thing." 

"Well,  well,  this  is  the  kind  of  men  we  like.  But 
take  care  of  yourselves,  Messieurs;  some  one  comes 
from  the  Rue  Saint-Honore. " 

"Who  goes  there?"  cried  the  foremost  of  the  troop 
to  some  men  who  were  advancing.  "Royalists  or 
Cardinalists?" 

"Gaston  and  Le  Grand,"  replied  the  newcomers, 
in  low  tones. 

"It  is  Montresor  and  Monsieur's  people,"  said  Fon- 
trailles.  "We  may  soon  begin." 

"Yes,  par  la  corbleu  /"  said  the  newcomer,  "for 
the  Cardinalists  will  pass  at  three  o'clock.  Some  one 
told  us  so  just  now." 

"Where  are  they  going?"  said  Fontrailles. 

"There  are  more  than  two  hundred  of  them  to 
escort  Monsieur  de  Chavigny,  who  is  going  to  see  the 
old  cat  at  Narbonne,  they  say.  They  thought  it  safer 
to  pass  by  the  Louvre. " 

"Well,  we  will  give  him  a  velvet  paw! "  said  the  Abbe*. 
[237! 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

As  he  finished  saying  this,  a  noise  of  carriages  and 
horses  was  heard.  Several  men  in  cloaks  rolled  an 
enormous  stone  into  the  middle  of  the  street.  The 
foremost  cavaliers  passed  rapidly  through  the  crowd, 
pistols  in  hand,  suspecting  that  something  unusual 
was  going  on;  but  the  postilion,  who  drove  the  horses 
of  the  first  carriage,  ran  upon  the  stone  and  fell. 

"Whose  carriage  is  this  which  thus  crushes  foot- 
passengers?"  cried  the  cloakmen,  all  at  once.  "It  is 
tyrannical.  It  can  be  no  other  than  a  friend  of  the 
Cardinal  de  la  Rochelle."* 

"It  is  one  who  fears  not  the  friends  of  the  little 
Le  Grand,"  exclaimed  a  voice  from  the  open  door, 
from  which  a  man  threw  himself  upon  a  horse. 

"Drive  these  Cardinalists  into  the  river!"  cried  a 
shrill,  piercing  voice. 

This  was  a  signal  for  the  pistol-shots  which  were 
furiously  exchanged  on  every  side,  and  which  lighted 
up  this  tumultuous  and  sombre  scene.  The  clashing 
of  swords  and  trampling  of  horses  did  not  prevent  the 
cries  from  being  heard  on  one  side:  "Down  with  the 
minister!  Long  live  the  King!  Long  live  Monsieur 
and  Monsieur  le  Grand!  Down  with  the  red-stock- 
ings!" On  the  other:  "Long  live  his  Eminence!  Long 
live  the  great  Cardinal!  Death  to  the  factious!  Long 
live  the  King!"  For  the  name  of  the  King  presided 
over  every  hatred,  as  over  every  affection,  at  this 
strange  time. 

*  During  the  long  siege  of  La  Rochelle,  this  name  was  given  to 
Cardinal  Richelieu,  to  ridicule  his  obstinacy  in  commanding  as  Gen- 
eral-in-Chief, and  claiming  for  himself  the  merit  of  taking  that  town. 


CINQ-MARS 

The  men  on  foot  had  succeeded,  however,  in  plac- 
ing the  two  carriages  across  the  quay  so  as  to  make  a 
rampart  against  Chavigny's  horses,  and  from  this, 
between  the  wheels,  through  the  doors  and  springs, 
overwhelmed  them  with  pistol-shots,  and  dismounted 
many.  The  tumult  was  frightful,  but  suddenly  the 
gates  of  the  Louvre  were  thrown  open,  and  two  squad- 
rons of  the  body-guard  came  out  at  a  trot.  Most  of 
them  carried  torches  in  their  hands  to  light  them- 
selves and  those  they  were  about  to  attack.  The 
scene  changed.  As  the  guards  reached  each  of  the 
men  on  foot,  the  latter  was  seen  to  stop,  remove  his 
hat,  make  himself  known,  and  name  himself;  and 
the  guards  withdrew,  sometimes  saluting  him,  and 
sometimes  shaking  him  by  the  hand.  This  succor  to 
Chavigny's  carriages  was  then  almost  useless,  and  only 
served  to  augment  the  confusion.  The  body-guards, 
as  if  to  satisfy  their  consciences,  rushed  through  the 
throng  of  duellists,  saying: 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen,  be  moderate!" 

But  when  two  gentlemen  had  decidedly  crossed 
swords,  and  were  in  active  conflict,  the  guard  who 
beheld  them  stopped  to  judge  the  fight,  and  some- 
times even  to  favor  the  one  who  he  thought  was  of 
his  opinion,  for  this  body,  like  all  France,  had  their 
Royalists  and  their  Cardinalists. 

The  windows  of  the  Louvre  were  lighted  one  after 
another,  and  many  women's  heads  were  seen  behind 
the  little  lozenge-shaped  panes,  attentively  watching 
the  combat. 

Numerous  Swiss  patrols  came  out  with  flambeaux. 
[239] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

These  soldiers  were  easily  distinguished  by  an  odd 
uniform.  The  right  sleeve  was  striped  blue  and  red, 
and  the  silk  stocking  of  the  right  leg  was  red;  the 
left  side  was  striped  with  blue,  red,  and  white,  and 
the  stocking  was  white  and  red.  It  had,  no  doubt, 
been  hoped  in  the  royal  chateau  that  this  foreign 
troop  would  disperse  the  crowd,  but  they  were  mis- 
taken. These  impassible  soldiers  coldly  and  exactly 
executed,  without  going  beyond,  the  orders  they  had 
received,  circulating  symmetrically  among  the  armed 
groups,  which  they  divided  for  a  moment,  returning 
before  the  gate  with  perfect  precision,  and  resuming 
their  ranks  as  on  parade,  without  informing  them- 
selves whether  the  enemies  among  whom  they  had 
passed  had  rejoined  or  not. 

But  the  noise,  for  a  moment  appeased,  became 
general  by  reason  of  personal  disputes.  In  every  di- 
rection challenges,  insults,  and  imprecations  were 
heard.  It  seemed  as  if  nothing  but  the  destruction 
of  one  of  the  two  parties  could  put  an  end  to  the  com- 
bat, when  loud  cries,  or  rather  frightful  howls,  raised 
the  tumult  to  its  highest  pitch.  The  Abbe  de  Gondi, 
dragging  a  cavalier  by  his  cloak  to  pull  him  down, 
exclaimed : 

"Here  are  my  people!  Fontrailles,  now  you  will 
see  something  worth  while!  Look!  look  already  who 
they  run!  It  is  really  charming." 

And  he  abandoned  his  hold,  and  mounted  upon  a 

stone  to  contemplate  the  manoeuvres  of  his  troops, 

crossing  his  arms  with  the  importance  of  a  General  of 

an  army.     Day  was  beginning  to  break,  and  from  the 

[240] 


CINQ-MARS 

end  of  the  He  St.-Louis  a  crowd  of  men,  women, 
and  children  of  the  lowest  dregs  of  the  people  was 
seen  rapidly  advancing,  casting  toward  heaven  and 
the  Louvre  strange  vociferations.  Girls  carried  long 
swords;  children  dragged  great  halberds  and  pikes 
of  the  time  of  the  League;  old  women  in  rags  pulled 
by  cords  old  carts  full  of  rusty  and  broken  arms; 
workmen  of  every  trade,  the  greater  number  drunk, 
followed,  armed  with  clubs,  forks,  lances,  shovels, 
torches,  stakes,  crooks,  levers,  sabres,  and  spits.  They 
sang  and  howled  alternately,  counterfeiting  with  atro- 
cious yells  the  cries  of  a  cat,  and  carrying  as  a  flag 
one  of  these  animals  suspended  from  a  pole  and 
wrapped  in  a  red  rag,  thus  representing  the  Cardinal, 
whose  taste  for  cats  was  generally  known.  Public 
criers  rushed  about,  red  and  breathless,  throwing  on 
the  pavement  and  sticking  up  on  the  parapets,  the 
posts,  the  walls  of  the  houses,  and  even  on  the  palace, 
long  satires  in  short  stanzas  upon  the  personages  of 
the  time.  Butcher-boys  and  scullions,  carrying  large 
cutlasses,  beat  the  charge  upon  saucepans,  and  dragged 
in  the  mud  a  newly  slaughtered  pig,  with  the  red  cap 
of  a  chorister  on  its  head.  Young  and  vigorous  men, 
dressed  as  women,  and  painted  with  a  coarse  ver- 
milion, were  yelling,  "We  are  mothers  of  families 
ruined  by  Richelieu!  Death  to  the  Cardinal!"  They 
carried  in  their  arms  figures  of  straw  that  looked  like 
children,  which  they  threw  into  the  river. 

When  this  disgusting  mob  overran  the  quays  with 
its  thousands  of  imps,  it  produced  a  strange  effect 
upon  the  combatants,  and  entirely  contrary  to  that 
16  [  241  ] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

expected  by  their  patron.  The  enemies  on  both  sides 
lowered  their  arms  and  separated.  Those  of  Mon- 
sieur and  Cinq-Mars  were  revolted  at  seeing  them- 
selves succored  by  such  auxiliaries,  and,  themselves 
aiding  the  Cardinal's  gentlemen  to  remount  their 
horses  and  to  gain  their  carriages,  and  their  valets  to 
convey  the  wounded  to  them,  gave  their  adversaries 
personal  rendezvous  to  terminate  their  quarrel  upon 
a  ground  more  secret  and  more  worthy  of  them. 
Ashamed  of  the  superiority  of  numbers  and  the  ignoble 
troops  which  they  seemed  to  command,  foreseeing, 
perhaps,  for  the  first  time  the  fearful  consequences 
of  their  political  machinations,  and  what  was  the  scum 
they  were  stirring  up,  they  withdrew,  drawing  their 
large  hats  over  their  eyes,  throwing  their  cloaks  over 
their  shoulders,  and  avoiding  the  daylight. 

"You  have  spoiled  all,  my  dear  Abbe,  with  this 
mob,"  said  Fontrailles,  stamping  his  foot,  to  Gondi, 
who  was  already  sufficiently  nonplussed;  "your  good 
uncle  has  fine  parishioners!" 

"It  is  not  my  fault,"  replied  Gondi,  in  a  sullen  tone; 
"these  idiots  came  an  hour  too  late.  Had  they  ar- 
rived in  the  night,  they  would  not  have  been  seen, 
which  spoils  the  effect  somewhat,  to  speak  the  truth 
(for  I  grant  that  daylight  is  detrimental  to  them),  and 
we  would  only  have  heard  the  voice  of  the  people: 
Vox  populi,  vox  Dei.  Nevertheless,  no  great  harm 
has  been  done.  They  will  by  their  numbers  give  us 
the  means  of  escaping  without  being  known,  and, 
after  all,  our  task  is  ended ;  we  did  not  wish  the  death 
of  the  sinner.  Chavigny  and  his  men  are  worthy  fel- 
[242] 


CINQ-MARS 

lows,  whom  I  love;  if  he  is  only  slightly  wounded,  so 
much  the  better.  Adieu;  I  am  going  to  see  Mon- 
sieur de  Bouillon,  who  has  arrived  from  Italy." 

" Olivier,"  said  Fontrailles,  "go  at  once  to  Saint- 
Germain  with  Fournier  and  Ambrosio;  I  will  go  and 
give  an  account  to  Monsieur,  with  Montre"sor." 

All  separated,  and  disgust  accomplished,  with  these 
high-born  men,  what  force  could  not  bring  about.  . 

Thus  ended  this  fray,  likely  to  bring  forth  great 
misfortunes.  No  one  was  killed  in  it.  The  cavaliers, 
having  gained  a  few  scratches  and  lost  a  few  purses, 
resumed  their  route  by  the  side  of  the  carriages  along 
the  by-streets;  the  others  escaped,  one  by  one,  through 
the  populace  they  had  attracted.  The  miserable 
wretches  who  composed  it,  deprived  of  the  chief  of 
the  troops,  still  remained  two  hours,  yelling  and  scream- 
ing until  the  effect  of  their  wine  was  gone,  and  the 
cold  had  extinguished  at  once  the  fire  of  their  blood 
and  that  of  their  enthusiasm.  At  the  windows  of 
the  houses,  on  the  quay  of  the  city,  and  along  the 
walls,  the  thoughtful  and  genuine  people  of  Paris 
watched  with  a  sorrowful  air  and  in  mournful  silence 
these  preludes  of  disorder;  while  the  various  bodies 
of  merchants,  dressed  in  black  and  preceded  by  their 
provosts,  walked  slowly  and  courageously  through  the 
populace  toward  the  Palais  de  Justice,  where  the  par- 
liament was  to  assemble,  to  make  complaint  of  these 
terrible  nocturnal  scenes. 

The  apartments  of  Gaston  d' Orleans  were  in  great 
confusion.  This  Prince  occupied  the  wing  of  the 
Louvre  parallel  with  the  Tuileries;  and  his  windows 
[243] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

looked  into  the  court  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other 
over  a  mass  of  little  houses  and  narrow  streets  which 
almost  entirely  covered  the  place.  He  had  risen  pre- 
cipitately, awakened  suddenly  by  the  report  of  the 
firearms,  had  thrust  his  feet  into  large  square-toed 
slippers  with  high  heels,  and,  wrapped  in  a  large  silk 
dressing-gown,  covered  with  golden  ornaments  em- 
broidered in  relief,  walked  to  and  fro  in  his  bedroom, 
sending  every  minute  a  fresh  lackey  to  see  what  was 
going  on,  and  ordering  them  immediately  to  go  for 
the  Abbe  de  la  Riviere,  his  general  counsellor;  but  he 
was  unfortunately  out  of  Paris.  At  every  pistol-shot 
this  timid  Prince  rushed  to  the  windows,  without  see- 
ing anything  but  some  flambeaux,  which  were  carried 
quickly  along.  It  was  in  vain  he  was  told  that  the 
cries  he  heard  were  in  his  favor;  he  did  not  cease  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  apartments,  in  the  greatest 
disorder — his  long  black  hair  dishevelled,  and  his 
blue  eyes  open  and  enlarged  by  disquiet  and  terror. 
He  was  still  thus  when  Montresor  and  Fontrailles  at 
length  arrived  and  found  him  beating  his  breast, 
and  repeating  a  thousand  times,  "Mea  culpa,  mea 
cut  pal" 

"You  have  come  at  last!"  he  exclaimed  from  a  dis- 
tance, running  to  meet  them.  "Come!  quick!  What 
is  going  on?  What  are  they  doing  there?  Who  are 
these  assassins?  What  are  these  cries?" 

"They  cry,  'Long  live  Monsieur!'  " 

Gaston,  without  appearing  to  hear,  and  holding  the 
door  of  his  chamber  open  for  an  instant,  that  his  voice 
might  reach  the  galleries  in  which  were  the  people  of 
[244] 


CINQ-MARS 

his  household,  continued  to  cry  with  all  his  strength, 
gesticulating  violently: 

"I  know  nothing  of  all  this,  and  I  have  authorized 
nothing.  I  will  not  hear  anything!  I  will  not  know 
anything!  I  will  never  enter  into  any  project!  These 
are  rioters  who  make  all  this  noise;  do  not  speak  to 
me  of  them,  if  you  wish  to  be  well  received  here.  I 
am  the  enemy  of  no  man;  I  detest  such  scenes!" 

Fontrailles,  who  knew  the  man  with  whom  he  had 
to  deal,  said  nothing,  but  entered  with  his  friend,  that 
Monsieur  might  have  time  to  discharge  his  first  fury; 
and  when  all  was  said,  and  the  door  carefully  shut, 
he  began  to  speak: 

" Monseigneur, "  said  he,  "we  come  to  ask  you  a 
thousand  pardons  for  the  impertinence  of  these  people, 
who  will  persist  in  crying  out  that  they  desire  the 
death  of  your  enemy,  and  that  they  would  even  wish 
to  make  you  regent  should  we  have  the  misfortune  to 
lose  his  Majesty.  Yes,  the  people  are  always  frank 
in  their  discourse;  but  they  are  so  numerous  that  all 
our  efforts  could  not  restrain  them.  It  was  truly  a 
cry  from  the  heart — an  explosion  of  love,  which  rea- 
son could  not  restrain,  and  which  escaped  all  bounds." 

"But  what  has  happened,  then?"  interrupted  Gas- 
ton,  somewhat  calmed.  "What  have  they  been  do- 
ing these  four  hours  that  I  have  heard  them?" 

"That  love,"  said  Montresor,  coldly,  "as  Monsieur 
de  Fontrailles  had  the  honor  of  telling  you,  so  escaped 
all  rule  and  bounds  that  we  ourselves  were  carried 
away  by  it,  and  felt  seized  with  that  enthusiasm  which 
always  transports  us  at  the  mere  name  of  Monsieur, 
[245] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

and  which  leads  us  on  to  things  which  we  had  not 
premeditated." 

"But  what,  then,  have  you  done?"  said  the  Prince. 

"Those  things,"  replied  Fontrailles,  "of  which 
Monsieur  de  Montresor  had  the  honor  to  speak  to 
Monsieur  are  precisely  those  which  I  foresaw  here 
yesterday  evening,  when  I  had  the  honor  of  convers- 
ing with  you." 

"That  is  not  the  question,"  interrupted  Gaston. 
"You  can  not  say  that  I  have  ordered  or  authorized 
anything.  I  meddle  with  nothing;  I  know  nothing 
of  government." 

"I  admit,"  continued  Fontrailles,  "that  your  High- 
ness ordered  nothing,  but  you  permitted  me  to  tell 
you  that  I  foresaw  that  this  night  would  be  a  troubled 
one  about  two  o'clock,  and  I  hoped  that  your  aston- 
ishment would  not  have  been  too  great." 

The  Prince,  recovering  himself  little  by  little,  and 
seeing  that  he  did  not  alarm  the  two  champions,  hav- 
ing also  upon  his  conscience  and  reading  in  their  eyes 
the  recollection  of  the  consent  which  he  had  given 
them  the  evening  before,  sat  down  upon  the  side 
of  his  bed,  crossed  his  arms,  and,  looking  at  them 
with  the  air  of  a  judge,  again  said  in  a  commanding 
tone: 

"But  what,  then,  have  you  done?" 

"Why,  hardly  anything,  Monseigneur, "  said  Fon- 
trailles. "Chance  led  us  to  meet  in  the  crowd  some 
of  our  friends  who  had  a  quarrel  with  Monsieur  de 
Chavigny's  coachman,  who  was  driving  over  them. 
A  few  hot  words  ensued  and  rough  gestures,  and  a 
[246] 


CINQ-MARS 

few  scratches,  which  kept  Monsieur  de  Chavigny  wait- 
ing, and  that  is  all." 

"Absolutely  all,"  repeated  Montresor. 

"What,  all?"  exclaimed  Gaston,  much  moved,  and 
tramping  about  the  chamber.  "And  is  it,  then,  noth- 
ing to  stop  the  carriage  of  a  friend  of  the  Cardinal- 
Duke?  I  do  not  like  such  scenes.  I  have  already 
told  you  so.  I  do  not  hate  the  Cardinal;  he  is  cer- 
tainly a  great  politician,  a  very  great  politician.  You 
have  compromised  me  horribly;  it  is  known  that 
Montresor  is  with  me.  If  he  has  been  recognized, 
they  will  say  that  I  sent  him." 

"Chance,"  said  Montresor,  "threw  in  my  way  this 
peasant's  dress,  which  Monsieur  may  see  under  my 
cloak,  and  which,  for  that  reason,  I  preferred  to  any 
other." 

Gaston  breathed  again. 

"You  are  sure,  then,  that  you  have  not  been  recog- 
nized. You  understand,  my  dear  friend,  how  painful 
it  would  be  to  me.  You  must  admit  yourself " 

"Sure  of  it!"  exclaimed  the  Prince's  gentleman.  "I 
would  stake  my  head  and  my  share  in  Paradise  that 
no  one  has  seen  my  features  or  called  my  by  my  name. " 

"Well,"  continued  Gaston,  again  seating  himself  on 
his  bed,  and  assuming  a  calmer  air,  in  which  even  a 
slight  satisfaction  was  visible,  "tell  me,  then,  what  has 
happened." 

Fontrailles  took  upon  himself  the  recital,  in  which, 
as  we  may  suppose,  the  populace  played  a  great  part 
and  Monsieur's  people  none,  and  in  his  peroration  he 
said: 

[247] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"From  our  windows  even,  Monseigneur,  respectable 
mothers  of  families  might  have  been  seen,  driven  by 
despair,  throwing  their  children  into  the  Seine,  cursing 
Richelieu." 

"Ah,  it  is  dreadful!"  exclaimed  the  Prince,  indig- 
nant, or  feigning  to  be  so,  and  to  believe  in  these  ex- 
cesses. "Is  it,  then,  true  that  he  is  so  generally 
detested?  But  we  must  allow  that  he  deserves  it. 
What!  his  ambition  and  avarice  have,  then,  reduced 
to  this  extremity  the  good  inhabitants  of  Paris,  whom 
I  love  so  much." 

"Yes,  Monseigneur,"  replied  the  orator.  "And  it 
is  not  Paris  alone,  it  is  all  France,  which,  with  us, 
entreats  you  to  decide  upon  delivering  her  from  this 
tyrant.  All  is  ready;  nothing  is  wanting  but  a  sign 
from  your  august  head  to  annihilate  this  pygmy,  who 
has  attempted  to  assault  the  royal  house  itself." 

"Alas!  Heaven  is  my  witness  that  I  myself  forgive 
him!"  answered  Gaston,  raising  up  his  eyes.  "But  I 
can  no  longer  bear  the  cries  of  the  people.  Yes,  I  will 
help  them;  that  is  to  say,"  continued  the  Prince,  "so 
that  my  dignity  is  not  compromised,  and  that  my 
name  does  not  appear  in  the  matter." 

"Well,  but  it  is  precisely  that  which  we  want,"  ex- 
claimed Fontrailles,  a  little  more  at  his  ease. 

"See,  Monseigneur,  there  are  already  some  names 
to  put  after  yours,  who  will  not  fear  to  sign.  I  will 
tell  you  them  immediately,  if  you  wish  it." 

"But— but,"  said  the  Due  d'Orleans,  timidly,  "do 
you  know  that  it  is  a  conspiracy  which  you  propose  to 
me  so  coolly?" 

[248] 


CINQ-MARS 

"Fie,  Monseigneur,  men  of  honor  like  us!  a  con- 
spiracy! Oh!  not  at  all;  a  league  at  the  utmost,  a 
slight  combination  to  give  a  direction  to  the  unanimous 
wish  of  the  nation  and  the  court — that  is  all." 

"But  that  is  not  so  clear,  for,  after  all,  this  affair 
will  be  neither  general  nor  public;  therefore,  it  is  a 
conspiracy.  You  will  not  avow  that  you  are  con- 
cerned in  it." 

"I,  Monseigneur!  Excuse  me  to  all  the  world, 
since  the  kingdom  is  already  in  it,  and  I  am  of  the 
kingdom.  And  who  would  not  sign  his  name  after 
that  of  Messieurs  de  Bouillon  and  Cinq-Mars?" 

"After,  perhaps,  not  before,"  said  Gaston,  fixing 
his  eyes  upon  Fontrailles  more  keenly  than  he  had 
expected. 

The  latter  hesitated  a  moment. 

"Well,  then,  what  would  Monseigneur  do  should  I 
tell  him  the  names  after  which  he  could  sign  his?" 

"Ha!  ha!  this  is  amusing,"  answered  the  Prince, 
laughing;  "know  you  not  that  above  mine  there  are 
not  many?  I  see  but  one." 

"And  if  there  be  one,  will  Monseigneur  promise  to 
sign  that  of  Gaston  beneath  it?" 

"Ah,  parbleu!  with  all  my  heart.  I  risk  nothing 
there,  for  I  see  none  but  that  of  the  King,  who  surely 
is  not  of  the  party." 

"Well,  from  this  moment  permit  us,"  said  Mon- 
tresor,  "to  take  you  at  your  word,  and  deign  at  pres- 
ent to  consent  to  two  things  only:  to  see  Monsieur  de 
Bouillon  in  the  Queen's  apartments,  and  Monsieur  the 
master  of  the  horse  at  the  King's  palace. " 
[249] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"  Agreed!"  said  Monsieur,  gayly,  tapping  Montresor 
on  the  shoulder.  "I  will  to-day  wait  on  my  sister- 
in-law  at  her  toilette,  and  I  will  invite  my  brother  to 
hunt  the  stag  with  me  at  Chambord." 

The  two  friends  asked  nothing  further,  and  were 
themselves  surprised  at  their  work.  They  never  had 
seen  so  much  resolution  in  their  chief.  Accordingly, 
fearing  to  lead  him  to  a  topic  which  might  divert  him 
from  the  path  he  had  adopted,  they  hastened  to  turn 
the  conversation  upon  other  subjects,  and  retired  in 
delight,  leaving  as  their  last  words  in  his  ear  that  they 
relied  upon  his  keeping  his  promise. 


[250] 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  ALCOVE 

Les  reines  ont  6t6  vues  pleurant  comme  de  simples  femmes.— 
CHATEAUBRIAND. 

Qu'il  est  doux  d'etre  belle  alors  qu'on  est  aime'e. — DELPHINE 
GAY. 

;HILE  a  prince  was  thus  reassured 
with  difficulty  by  those  who  sur- 
rounded him,  and  allowed  them  to 
see  a  terror  which  might  have  proved 
contagious,  a  princess  more  exposed 
to  accidents,  more  isolated  by  the 
indifference  of  her  husband,  weaker 
by  nature  and  by  the  timidity  which 
is  the  result  of  the  absence  of  happiness,  on  her  side 
set  the  example  of  the  calmest  courage  and  the  most 
pious  resignation,  and  tranquillized  her  terrified  suite; 
this  was  the  Queen.  Having  slept  hardly  an  hour, 
she  heard  shrill  cries  behind  the  doors  and  the  thick 
tapestries  of  her  chamber.  She  ordered  her  women 
to  open  the  door,  and  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse,  in 
her  night  attire,  and  wrapped  in  a  great  cloak,  fell, 
nearly  fainting,  at  the  foot  of  her  bed,  followed  by  four 
of  her  ladies-in-waiting  and  three  of  the  women  of 
the  bed-chamber.  Her  delicate  feet  were  bare,  and 
bleeding  from  a  wound  she  had  received  in  running. 

[•si] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

She  cried,  weeping  like  a  child,  that  a  pistol-shot  had 
broken  her  shutters  and  her  window-panes,  and  had 
wounded  her;  she  entreated  the  Queen  to  send  her 
into  exile,  where  she  would  be  more  tranquil  than  in 
a  country  where  they  wished  to  assassinate  her  because 
she  was  the  friend  of  her  Majesty. 

Her  hair  was  in  great  disorder,  and  fell  to  her  feet. 
It  was  her  chief  beauty ;  and  the  young  Queen  thought 
that  this  toilette  was  less  the  result  of  chance  than 
might  have  been  imagined. 

"Well,  my  dear,  what  has  happened?"  she  said  to 
her  with  sang-froid.  "You  look  like  a  Magdalen,  but 
in  her  youth,  and  before  she  repented.  It  is  probable 
that  if  they  wish  to  harm  any  one  here  it  is  I;  calm 
yourself." 

"No,  Madame!  save  me,  protect  me!  it  is  Riche- 
lieu who  pursues  me,  I  am  sure!" 

The  sound  of  pistols,  which  was  then  heard  more 
distinctly,  convinced  the  Queen  that  the  terrors  of 
Madame  de  Chevreuse  were  not  vain. 

"Come  and  dress  me,  Madame  de  Motteville!" 
cried  she.  But  that  lady  had  completely  lost  her  self- 
possession,  and,  opening  one  of  those  immense  ebony 
coffers  which  then  answered  the  purpose  of  ward- 
robes, took  from  it  a  casket  of  the  Princess's  diamonds 
to  save  it,  and  did  not  listen  to  her.  The  other  women 
had  seen  on  a  window  the  reflection  of  torches,  and, 
imagining  that  the  palace  was  on  fire,  threw  jewels, 
laces,  golden  vases,  and  even  the  china,  into  sheets 
which  they  intended  to  lower  into  the  street.  At  this 
moment  Madame  de  Guemene*e  arrived,  a  little  more 


CINQ-MARS 

dressed  than  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse,  but  taking 
events  still  more  tragically.  Her  terror  inspired  the 
Queen  with  a  slight  degree  of  fear,  because  of  the 
ceremonious  and  placid  character  she  was  known  to 
possess.  She  entered  without  curtseying,  pale  as  a 
spectre,  and  said  with  volubility: 

"  Madame,  it  is  time  to  make  our  confession.  The 
Louvre  is  attacked,  and  all  the  populace  are  arriving 
from  the  city,  I  have  been  told." 

Terror  silenced  and  rendered  motionless  all  the  per- 
sons present. 

"We  shall  die!"  exclaimed  the  Duchesse  de  Chev- 
reuse, still  on  her  knees.  "Ah,  my  God!  why  did  I 
leave  England  ?  Yes,  let  us  confess.  I  confess  aloud. 
I  have  loved — I  have  been  loved  by " 

"Well,"  said  the  Queen,  "I  do  not  undertake  to 
hear  your  confession  to  the  end.  That  would  not 
perhaps  be  the  least  of  my  dangers,  of  which,  how- 
ever,  you  think  little." 

The  coolness  of  Anne  of  Austria,  and  this  last  se^ 
vere  observation,  however,  restored  a  little  calm  to 
this  beautiful  personage,  who  rose  in  confusion,  and 
perceiving  the  disordered  state  of  her  toilet,  went  to 
repair  it  as  she  best  could  in  a  closet  near  by. 

"Dona  Stefania,"  said  the  Queen  to  one  of  her 
women,  the  only  Spaniard  whom  she  had  retained, 
"go  seek  the  captain  of  the  guards.  It  is  time  that 
I  should  see  men  at  last,  and  hear  something  reason- 
able." 

She  said  this  in  Spanish,  and  the  mystery  of  this 
order,  spoken  in  a  tongue  which  the  ladies  did  not 
[253] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

understand,   restored  those  in  the  chamber  to  their 
senses. 

The  waiting-woman  was  telling  her  beads,  but  she 
rose  from  the  corner  of  the  alcove  in  which  she  had 
sought  refuge,  and  hastened  to  obey  her  mistress. 

The  signs  of  revolt  and  the  evidences  of  terror  be- 
came meantime  more  distinct.  In  the  great  court  of 
the  Louvre  was  heard  the  trampling  of  the  horses  of 
the  guards,  the  orders  of  the  chief r,  the  rolling  of  the 
Queen's  carriages,  which  were  being  prepared,  should 
it  be  necessary  to  fly.  The  rattling  of  the  iron  chains 
dragged  along  the  pavement  to  form  barricades  in 
case  of  an  attack,  hurried  steps  in  the  corridor,  the 
clash  of  arms,  the  confused  cries  of  the  people,  which 
rose  and  fell,  went  and  came  again,  like  the  noise  of  the 
waves  and  the  winds.  The  door  once  more  opened, 
and  this  time  it  was  to  admit  a  very  charming  person. 

"I  expected  you,  dear  Marie,"  said  the  Queen,  ex- 
tending her  arms  to  the  Duchesse  de  Mantua.  "You 
have  been  more  courageous  than  any  of  us;  you  are 
attired  fit  to  be  seen  by  all  the  court." 

"I  was  not  in  bed,  fortunately,"  replied  the  young 
Princesse  de  Gonzaga, casting  down  her  eyes.  "I  saw 
all  these  people  from  the  windows.  O  Madame,  Ma- 
dame, fly!  I  implore  you  to  escape  by  the  secret 
stairway,  and  let  us  remain  in  your  place.  They 
might  take  one  of  us  for  the  Queen. "  And  she  added, 
with  tears,  "I  have  heard  cries  of  death.  Fly,  Ma- 
dame! I  have  no  throne  to  lose.  You  are  the  daugh- 
ter, the  wife,  and  the  mother  of  kings.  Save  yourself, 
and  leave  us  here!" 

[254] 


CINQ-MARS 

"You  have  more  to  lose  than  I,  m'amie,  in  beauty, 
youth,  and,  I  hope,  in  happiness,"  said  the  Queen, 
with  a  gracious  smile,  giving  the  Duchess  her  beau- 
tiful hands  to  kiss.  "Remain  in  my  alcove  and  wel- 
come; but  we  will  both  remain  there.  The  only  ser- 
vice I  accept  from  you,  my  sweet  child,  is  to  bring  to 
my  bed  that  little  golden  casket  which  my  poor  Motte- 
ville  has  left  on  the  ground,  and  which  contains  all 
that  I  hold  most  precious. " 

Then,  as  she  took  it,  she  whispered  in  Marie's  ear: 

"Should  any  misfortune  happen  to  me,  swear  that 
you  will  throw  it  into  the  Seine." 

"I  will  obey  you,  Madame,  as  my  benefactress  and 
my  second  mother,"  Marie  answered,  weeping. 

The  sound  of  the  conflict  redoubled  on  the  quays, 
and  the  windows  reflected  the  flash  of  the  firearms, 
of  which  they  heard  the  explosion.  The  captain  of 
the  guards  and  the  captain  of  the  Swiss  sent  for  orders 
from  the  Queen  through  Dona  Stefania. 

"I  permit  them  to  enter,"  said  the  Queen.  "Stand 
aside,  ladies.  I  am  a  man  in  a  moment  like  this;  and 
I  ought  to  be  so."  Then,  raising  the  bed-curtains, 
she  continued,  addressing  the  two  officers: 

"Gentlemen,  first  remember  that  you  answer  with 
your  heads  for  the  life  of  the  princes,  my  children. 
You  know  that,  Monsieur  de  Guitaut?" 

"I  sleep  across  their  doorway,  Madame;  but  this 
disturbance  does  not  threaten  either  them  or  your 
Majesty." 

"Very  well;  do  not  think  of  me  until  after  them," 
interrupted  the  Queen,  "and  protect  indiscriminately 
[255] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

all  who  are  threatened.  You  also  hear  me,  Monsieur 
de  Bassompierre;  you  are  a  gentleman.  Forget  that 
your  uncle  is  yet  in  the  Bastille,  and  do  your  duty  by 
the  grandsons  of  the  dead  King,  his  friend." 

He  was  a  young  man,  with  a  frank,  open  counte- 
nance. 

"Your  Majesty,"  said  he,  with  a  slight  German 
accent,  "may  see  that  I  have  forgotten  my  family, 
and  not  yours."  And  he  displayed  his  left  hand 
despoiled  of  two  fingers,  which  had  just  been  cut  off. 
"I  have  still  another  hand,"  said  he,  bowing  and 
withdrawing  with  Guitaut. 

The  Queen,  much  moved,  rose  immediately,  and, 
despite  the  prayers  of  the  Princesse  de  Guemenee,  the 
tears  of  Marie  de  Gonzaga,  and  the  cries  of  Madame 
de  Chevreuse,  insisted  upon  placing  herself  at  the 
window,  and  half  opened  it,  leaning  upon  the  shoulder 
of  the  Duchesse  de  Mantua. 

"What  do  I  hear?"  she  said.  "They  are  crying, 
'Long  live  the  King!  Long  live  the  Queen!' ' 

The  people,  imagining  they  recognized  her,  redoubled 
their  cries  at  this  moment,  and  shouted  louder  than 
ever,  "Down  with  the  Cardinal!  Long  live  Monsieur 
le  Grand!" 

Marie  shuddered. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  said  the  Queen, 
observing  her.  But  as  she  did  not  answer,  and  trem- 
bled in  every  limb,  this  good  and  gentle  Princess 
appeared  not  to  perceive  it;  and,  paying  the  greatest 
attention  to  the  cries  and  movements  of  the  populace, 
she  even  exaggerated  an  inquietude  which  she  had 
[256] 


CINQ-MARS 

not  felt  since  the  first  name  had  reached  her  ear.  An 
hour  later,  when  they  came  to  tell  her  that  the  crowd 
only  awaited  a  sign  from  her  hand  to  withdraw,  she 
waved  it  graciously,  and  with  an  air  of  satisfaction. 
But  this  joy  was  far  from  being  complete,  for  her 
heart  was  still  troubled  by  many  things,  and,  above 
all,  by  the  presentiment  of  the  regency.  The  more 
she  leaned  forward  to  show  herself,  the  more  she  beheld 
the  revolting  scenes  which  the  increasing  light  revealed. 
Terror  took  possession  of  her  soul  as  it  became  nec- 
essary to  appear  calm  and  confiding;  and  her  heart 
was  saddened  at  the  very  gayety  of  her  words  and 
countenance.  Exposed  to  all  eyes,  she  felt  herself  a 
mere  woman,  and  shuddered  in  looking  at  that  peo- 
ple whom  she  would  soon  perhaps  be  called  upon  to 
govern,  and  who  already  took  upon  themselves  to 
demand  fhe  death  of  ministers,  and  to  call  upon  their 
Queen  to  appear  before  them. 

She  saluted  them. 

A  hundred  and  fifty  years  later  that  salute  was 
repeated  by  another  princess,  like  herself  of  Austrian 
blood,  and  Queen  of  France.  The  monarchy  without 
foundation,  such  as  Richelieu  made  it,  was  born  and 
died  between  these  two  salutes. 

The  Princess  at  last  closed  her  windows,  and  hast- 
ened to  dismiss  her  timid  suite.  The  thick  curtains 
fell  again  over  the  barred  windows;  and  the  room 
was  no  longer  lighted  by  a  day  which  was  odious  to 
her.  Large  white  wax  flambeaux  burned  in  cande- 
labra, in  the  form  of  golden  arms,  which  stand  out 
from  the  framed  and  flowered  tapestries  with  which 
i7  [2S7] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

the  walls  were  hung.  She  remained  alone  with  Marie 
de  Mantua;  and  reentering  with  her  the  enclosure 
which  was  formed  by  the  royal  balustrade,  she  fell 
upon  her  bed,  fatigued  by  her  courage  and  her  smiles, 
and  burst  into  tears,  leaning  her  head  upon  her  pil- 
low. Marie,  on  her  knees  upon  a  velvet  footstool, 
held  one  of  her  hands  in  both  hers,  and  without  dar- 
ing to  speak  first,  leaned  her  head  tremblingly  upon 
it;  for  until  that  moment,  tears  never  had  been  seen 
in  the  Queen's  eyes. 

They  remained  thus  for  some  minutes.  The  Prin- 
cess, then  raising  herself  up  by  a  painful  effort,  spoke : 

"Do  not  afflict  yourself,  my  child;  let  me  weep. 
It  is  such  a  relief  to  one  who  reigns!  If  you  pray  to 
God  for  me,  ask  Him  to  grant  me  sufficient  strength 
not  to  hate  the  enemy  who  pursues  me  everywhere, 
and  who  will  destroy  the  royal  family  of  Frr.ice  and 
the  monarchy  by  his  boundless  ambition,  i  recognize 
him  in  all  that  has  taken  place;  I  see  him  in  this 
tumultuous  revolt." 

"What,  Madame!  is  he  not  at  Narbonne? — for  it 
is  the  Cardinal  of  whom  you  speak,  no  doubt;  and 
have  you  not  heard  that  these  cries  were  for  you,  and 
against  him?" 

"Yes,  m'amie,  he  is  three  hundred  leagues-  away 
from  us,  but  his  fatal  genius  keeps  guard  at  the  door. 
If  these  cries  have  been  heard,  it  is  because  he  has 
allowed  them;  if  these  men  were  assembled,  it  is  be- 
cause they  have  not  yet  reached  the  hour  which  he 
has  destined  for  their  destruction.  Believe  me,  I 
know  him;  and  I  have  dearly  paid  for  the  knowledge 
[258] 


CINQ-MARS 

of  that  dark  soul.  It  has  cost  me  all  the  power  of  my 
rank,  the  pleasures  of  my  age,  the  affection  of  my 
family  and  even  the  heart  of  my  husband.  He  has 
isolated  me  from  the  whole  world.  He  now  confines 
me  within  a  barrier  of  honors  and  respect;  and  for- 
merly he  dared,  to  the  scandal  of  all  France,  to  bring 
an  accusation  against  myself.  They  examined  my 
papers,  they  interrogated  me,  they  made  me  sign  my- 
self guilty,  and  ask  the  King's  pardon  for  a  fault  of 
which  I  was  ignorant;  and  I  owed  to  the  devotion, 
and  the  perhaps  eternal  imprisonment  of  a  faithful 
servant,*  the  preservation  of  this  casket  which  you 
have  saved  for  me.  I  read  in  your  looks  that  you  think 
me  too  fearful;  but  do  not  deceive  yourself,  as  all  the 
court  now  does.  Be  sure,  my  dear  child,  that  this  man 
is  everywhere,  and  that  he  knows  even  our  thoughts." 

"What,  Madame!  does  he  know  all  that  these  men 
have  cried  under  your  windows,  and  the  names  of 
those  who  sent  them?" 

"Yes;  no  doubt  he  knows  it,  or  has  foreseen  it. 
He  permits  it;  he  authorizes  it,  to  compromise  me  in 
the  King's  eyes,  and  keep  him  forever  separated  from 
me.  He  would  complete  my  humiliation." 

"But  the  King  has  not  loved  him  for  two  years; 
he  loves  another." 

The  Queen  smiled;  she  gazed  some  time  in  silence 
upon  the  pure  and  open  features  of  the  beautiful  Marie, 
and  her  look,  full  of  candor,  which  was  languidly 

*  His  name  was  Laporte.  Neither  the  fear  of  torture  nor  the  hope 
of  the  Cardinal's  reward  could  draw  from  him  one  word  of  the  Queen's 
secrets. 

[259] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

raised  toward  her.  She  smoothed  back  the  black 
curls  which  shaded  her  noble  forehead,  and  seemed 
to  rest  her  eyes  and  her  soul  in  looking  at  the  charm- 
ing innocence  displayed  upon  so  lovely  a  face.  She 
kissed  her  cheek,  and  resumed: 

"You  do  not  suspect,  my  poor  child,  a  sad  truth. 
It  is  that  the  King  loves  no  one,  and  that  those  who 
appear  the  most  in  favor  will  be  the  soonest  aban- 
doned by  him,  and  thrown  to  him  who  engulfs  and 
devours  all." 

"Ah,  mon  Dieu!  what  is  this  you  tell  me?" 

"Do  you  know  how  many  he  has  destroyed?"  con- 
tinued the  Queen,  in  a  low  voice,  and  looking  into  her 
eyes  as  if  to  read  in  them  all  her  thoughts,  and  to 
make  her  own  penetrate  there.  "Do  you  know  the 
end  of  his  favorites?  Have  you  been  told  of  the 
exile  of  Baradas;  of  that  of  Saint-Simon;  of  the  con- 
vent of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Fayette,  the  shame  of 
Madame  d'Hautfort,  the  death  of  Chalais?  All  have 
fallen  before  an  order  from  Richelieu  to  his  master. 
Without  this  favor,  which  you  mistake  for  friendship, 
their  lives  would  have  been  peaceful.  But  this  favor 
is  mortal;  it  is  a  poison.  Look  at  this  tapestry,  which 
represents  Semele.  The  favorites  of  Louis  XIII  re- 
semble that  woman;  his  attachment  devours  like  this 
fire,  which  dazzles  and  consumes  her." 

But  the  young  Duchess  was  no  longer  in  a  condition 
to  listen  to  the  Queen.  She  continued  to  fix  her  large, 
dark  eyes  upon  her,  dimmed  by  a  veil  of  tears;  her 
hands  trembled  in  those  of  Anne  of  Austria,  and  her 
lips  quivered  with  convulsive  agitation. 
[260] 


CINQ-MARS 

"I  am  very  cruel,  am  I  not,  Marie?"  continued  the 
Queen,  in  an  extremely  sweet  voice,  and  caressing  her 
like  a  child  from  whom  one  would  draw  an  avowal. 
"Oh,  yes;  no  doubt  I  am  very  wicked!  Your  heart 
is  full;  you  can  not  bear  it,  my  child.  Come,  tell  me; 
how  do  matters  stand  with  you  and  Monsieur  de  Cinq- 
Mars?" 

At  this  word  grief  found  a  vent,  and,  still  on  her 
knees  at  the  Queen's  feet,  Marie  in  her  turn  shed 
upon  the  bosom  of  the  good  Princess  a  deluge  of 
tears,  with  childish  sobs  and  so  violent  an  agitation  of 
her  head  and  her  beautiful  shoulders  that  it  seemed 
as  if  her  heart  would  break.  The  Queen  waited  a 
long  time  for  the  end  of  this  first  emotion,  rocking  her 
in  her  arms  as  if  to  appease  her  grief,  frequently  re- 
peating, "My  child,  my  child,  do  not  afflict  yourself 
thus!" 

"Ah,  Madame!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  have  been  guilty 
toward  you;  but  I  did  not  reckon  upon  that  heart. 
I  have  done  wrong,  and  I  shall  perhaps  be  punished 
severely  for  it.  But,  alas!  how  shall  I  venture  to 
confess  to  you,  Madame?  It  was  not  so  much  to 
open  my  heart  to  you  that  was  difficult;  it  was  to  avow 
to  you  that  I  had  need  to  read  there  myself." 

The  Queen  reflected  a  moment,  laying  her  finger 
upon  her  lips.  "You  are  right,"  she  then  replied; 
"you  are  quite  right.  Marie,  it  is  always  the  first 
word  which  is  the  most  difficult  to  say;  and  that 
difficulty  often  destroys  us.  But  it  must  be  so;  and 
without  this  rule  one  would  be  often  wanting  in  dig- 
nity. Ah,  how  difficult  it  is  to  reign !  To-day  I  would 
[261] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

descend  into  your  heart,  but  I  come  too  late  to  do 
you  good." 

Marie  de  Mantua  hung  her  head  without  making 
any  reply. 

"Must  I  encourage  you  to  speak?"  said  the  Queen. 
"Must  I  remind  you  that  I  have  almost  adopted  you 
for  my  eldest  daughter?  that  after  seeking  to  unite 
you  with  the  King's  brother,  I  prepared  for  you  the 
throne  of  Poland?  Must  I  do  more,  Marie?  Yes,  I 
must,  I  will.  If  afterward  you  do  not  open  your 
whole  heart  to  me,  I  have  misjudged  you.  Open  this 
golden  casket;  here  is  the  key.  Open  it  fearlessly; 
do  not  tremble  as  I  do." 

The  Duchesse  de  Mantua  obeyed  with  hesitation, 
and  beheld  in  this  little  chased  coffer  a  knife  of  rude 
form,  the  handle  of  which  was  of  iron,  and  the  blade 
very  rusty.  It  lay  upon  some  letters  carefully  folded, 
upon  which  was  the  name  of  Buckingham.  She 
would  have  lifted  them ;  Anne  of  Austria  stopped  her. 

"Seek  nothing  further,"  she  said;  "that  is  all  the 
treasure  of  the  Queen.  And  it  is  a  treasure;  for 
it  is  the  blood  of  a  man  who  lives  no  longer,  but  who 
lived  for  me.  He  was  the  most  beautiful,  the  bravest, 
the  most  illustrious  of  the  nobles  of  Europe.  He 
covered  himself  with  the  diamonds  of  the  English 
crown  to  please  me.  He  raised  up  a  fierce  war  and 
armed  fleets,  which  he  himself  commanded,  that  he 
might  have  the  happiness  of  once  fighting  him  who 
was  my  husband.  He  traversed  the  seas  to  gather  a 
flower  upon  which  I  had  trodden,  and  ran  the  risk  of 
death  to  kiss  and  bathe  with  his  tears  the  foot  of  this 
[262] 


CINQ-MARS 

bed  in  the  presence  of  two  of  my  ladies-in-waiting. 
Shall  I  say  more?  Yes,  I  will  say  it  to  you — I  loved 
him!  I  love  him  still  in  the  past  more  than  I  could 
love  him  in  the  present.  He  never  knew  it,  never 
divined  it.  This  face,  these  eyes,  were  marble  toward 
him,  while  my  heart  burned  and  was  breaking  with 
grief;  but  I  was  the  Queen  of  France!"  Here  Anne 
of  Austria  forcibly  grasped  Marie's  arm.  "Dare  now 
to  complain,"  she  continued,  "if  you  have  not  yet 
ventured  to  speak  to  me  of  your  love,  and  dare  now 
to  be  silent  when  I  have  told  you  these  things!" 

"Ah,  yes,  Madame,  I  shall  dare  to  confide  my  grief 
to  you,  since  you  are  to  me ' 

"A  friend,  a  woman!"  interrupted  the  Queen.  "I 
was  a  woman  in  my  terror,  which  put  you  in  pos- 
session of  a  secret  unknown  to  the  whole  world.  I 
am  a  woman  by  a  love  which  survives  the  man  I  loved. 
Speak;  tell  me!  It  is  now  time." 

"It  is  too  late,  on  the  contrary,"  replied  Marie, 
with  a  forced  smile.  "Monsieur  de  Cinq-Mars  and  I 
are  united  forever." 

"Forever!"  exclaimed  the  Queen.  "Can  you  mean 
it?  And  your  rank,  your  name,  your  future — is  all 
lost?  Do  you  reserve  this  despair  for  your  brother, 
the  Due  de  Bethel,  and  all  the  Gonzagas?" 

"For  more  than  four  years  I  have  thought  of  it.  I 
am  resolved;  and  for  ten  days  we  have  been  af- 
fianced." 

"Affianced!"  exclaimed  the  Queen,  clasping  her 
hands.  "You  have  been  deceived,  Marie.  Who 
would  have  dared  this  without  the  King's  order?  It 
[263] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

is  an  intrigue  which  I  will  know.  I  am  sure  that  you 
have  been  misled  and  deceived." 

Marie  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said: 

"Nothing  is  more  simple,  Madame,  than  our  attach- 
ment. I  inhabited,  you  know,  the  old  chateau  of 
Chaumont,  with  the  Marechale  d'Effiat,  the  mother 
of  Monsieur  de  Cinq-Mars.  I  had  retired  there  to 
mourn  the  death  of  my  father;  and  it  soon  happened 
that  Monsieur  de  Cinq-Mars  had  to  deplore  the  loss 
of  his.  In  this  numerous  afflicted  family,  I  saw  his 
grief  only,  which  was  as  profound  as  mine.  All  that 
he  said,  I  had  already  thought,  and  when  we  spoke  of 
our  afflictions  we  found  them  wholly  alike.  As  I  had 
been  the  first  to  suffer,  I  was  better  acquainted  with 
sorrow  than  he;  and  I  endeavored  to  console  him  by 
telling  him  all  that  I  had  suffered,  so  that  in  pitying 
me  he  forgot  himself.  This  was  the  beginning  of 
our  love,  which,  as  you  see,  had  its  birth,  as  it  were, 
between  two  tombs." 

"God  grant,  my  sweet,  that  it  may  have  a  happy 
termination!"  said  the  Queen. 

"I  hope  so,  Madame,  since  you  pray  for  me,"  con- 
tinued Marie.  "Besides,  everything  now  smiles  upon 
me;  but  at  that  time  I  was  very  miserable.  The 
news  arrived  one  day  at  the  chateau  that  the  Cardinal 
had  called  Monsieur  de  Cinq-Mars  to  the  army.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  was  again  deprived  of  one  of  my 
relatives;  and  yet  we  were  strangers.  But  Monsieur 
de  Bassompierre  spoke  without  ceasing  of  battles  and 
death.  I  retired  every  evening  in  grief,  and  I  wept 
during  the  night.  I  thought  at  first  that  my  tears 
[264] 


CINQ-MARS 

flowed  for  the  past,  but  I  soon  perceived  that  it  was 
for  the  future;  and  I  felt  that  they  could  not  be  the 
same  tears,  since  I  wished  to  conceal  them.  Some 
time  passed  in  the  expectation  of  his  departure.  I 
saw  him  every  day;  and  I  pitied  him  for  having  to 
depart,  because  he  repeated  to  me  every  instant  that 
lie  would  have  wished  to  live  eternally  as  he  then  did, 
in  his  own  country  and  with  us.  He  was  thus  with- 
out ambition  until  the  day  of  his  departure,  because 
he  knew  not  whether  he  was — whether  he  was — I 
dare  not  say  it  to  your  Majesty- 
Marie  blushed,  cast  down  her  humid  eyes,  and 
smiled. 

"Well!"  said  the  Queen,  "whether  he  was  beloved, 
— is  it  not  so?" 

"And  in  the  evening,  Madame,  he  left,  ambitious." 
"That  is  evident,  certainly.     He  left,"  said  Anne  of 
Austria,  somewhat  relieved;    "but  he  has  been  back 
two  years,  and  you  have  seen  him?" 

"Seldom,  Madame,"  said  the  young  Duchess, 
proudly;  "and  always  in  the  presence  of  the  priest, 
before  whom  I  have  promised  to  be  the  wife  of  no 
other  than  Cinq- Mars." 

"Is  it  really,  then,  a  marriage?  Have  you  dared  to 
do  it?  I  shall  inquire.  But,  Heaven,  what  faults! 
how  many  faults  in  the  few  words  I  have  heard!  Let 
me  reflect  upon  them." 

And,  speaking  aloud  to  herself,  the  Queen  contin- 
ued, her  eyes  and  head  bent  in  the  attitude  of  reflection: 
"Reproaches  are  useless  and  cruel  if  the  evil  is  done. 
The  past  is  no  longer  ours;  let  us  think  of  the  future. 
[265] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

Cinq-Mars  is  brave,  able,  and  even  profound  in  his 
ideas.  I  have  observed  that  he  has  done  much  in 
two  years,  and  I  now  see  that  it  was  for  Marie.  He 
comports  himself  well;  he  is  worthy  of  her  in  my 
eyes,  but  not  so  in  the  eyes  of  Europe.  He  must  rise 
yet  higher.  The  Princesse  de  Mantua  can  not,  may 
not,  marry  less  than  a  prince.  He  must  become  one. 
By  myself  I  can  do  nothing;  I  am  not  the  Queen,  I 
am  the  neglected  wife  of  the  King.  There  is  only 
the  Cardinal,  the  eternal  Cardinal,  and  he  is  his 
enemy;  and  perhaps  this  disturbance — 

"Alas!  it  is  the  beginning  of  war  between  them.  I 
saw  it  at  once." 

"He  is  lost  then!"  exclaimed  the  Queen,  embracing 
Marie.  "Pardon  me,  my  child,  for  thus  afflicting  you; 
but  in  times  like  these  we  must  see  all  and  say  all. 
Yes,  he  is  lost  if  he  does  not  himself  overthrow  this 
wicked  man — for  the  King  will  not  renounce  him; 
force  alone — 

"He  will  overthrow  him,  Madame.  He  will  do  it, 
if  you  will  assist  him.  You  are  the  divinity  of  France. 
Oh,  I  conjure  you,  protect  the  angel  against  the 
demon!  It  is  your  cause,  that  of  your  royal  family, 
that  of  all  your  nation." 

The  Queen  smiled. 

"It  is,  above  all,  your  cause,  my  child;  and  it  is  as 
such  that  I  will  embrace  it  to  the  utmost  extent  of 
my  power.  That  is  not  great,  as  I  have  told  you, 
but  such  as  it  is,  I  lend  it  to  you  entirely,  provided, 
however,  that  this  angel  does  not  stoop  to  commit 
mortal  sins,"  added  she,  with  a  meaning  look.  "I 
[266] 


CINQ-MARS 

heard  his  name  pronounced  this  night  by  voices  most 
unworthy  of  him." 

"Oh,  Madame,  I  would  swear  that  he  knows  noth- 
ing of  it!" 

"Ah,  my  child,  do  not  speak  of  State  affairs.  You 
are  not  yet  learned  enough  in  them.  Let  me  sleep, 
if  I  can,  before  the  hour  of  my  toilette.  My  eyes  are 
burning,  and  yours  also,  perhaps." 

Saying  these  words,  the  amiable  Queen  laid  her 
head  upon  the  pillow  which  covered  the  casket,  and 
soon  Marie  saw  her  fall  asleep  through  sheer  fatigue. 
She  then  rose,  and,  seating  herself  in  a  great,  tapes- 
tried, square  armchair,  clasped  her  hands  upon  her 
knees,  and  began  to  reflect  upon  her  painful  situation. 
Consoled  by  the  aspect  of  her  gentle  protectress,  she 
often  raised  her  eyes  to  watch  her  slumber,  and  sent 
her  in  secret  all  the  blessings  which  love  showers  upon 
those  who  protect  it,  sometimes  kissing  the  curls  ot 
her  blond  hair,  as  if  by  this  kiss  she  could  convey  to 
her  soul  all  the  ideas  favorable  to  the  thought  ever 
present  to  her  mind. 

The  Queen's  slumber  was  prolonged,  while  Marie 
thought  and  wept.  However,  she  remembered  that 
at  ten  o'clock  she  must  appear  at  the  royal  toilette 
before  all  the  court.  She  resolved  to  cast  aside  re- 
flection, to  dry  her  tears,  and  she  took  a  thick  folio 
volume  placed  upon  a  table  inlaid  with  enamel  and 
medallions;  it  was  the  Astree  of  M.  d'Urfe — a  work 
de  belle  galanterie  adored  by  the  fair  prudes  of  the 
court.  The  unsophisticated  and  straightforward  mind 
of  Marie  could  not  enter  into  these  pastoral  loves.  She 
[267] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

was  too  simple  to  understand  the  berg&res  du  Lignon, 
too  clever  to  be  pleased  at  their  discourse,  and  too 
impassioned  to  feel  their  tenderness.  However,  the 
great  popularity  of  the  romance  so  far  influenced  her 
that  she  sought  to  compel  herself  to  take  an  interest 
in  it;  and,  accusing  herself  internally  every  time  that 
she  felt  the  ennui  which  exhaled  from  the  pages  of 
the  book,  she  ran  through  it  writh  impatience  to  find 
something  to  please  and  transport  her.  An  engraving 
arrested  her  attention.  It  represented  the  shepherdess 
Astree  with  high-heeled  shoes,  a  corset,  and  an  im- 
mense farthingale,  standing  on  tiptoe  to  watch  floating 
down  the  river  the  tender  Celadon,  drowning  himself 
in  despair  at  having  been  somewhat  coldly  received 
in  the  morning.  Without  explaining  to  herself  the 
reason  of  the  taste  and  accumulated  fallacies  of  this 
picture,  she  sought,  in  turning  over  the  pages,  some- 
thing which  could  fix  her  attention;  she  saw  the  word 
"Druid." 

"Ah!  here  is  a  great  character,"  said  she.  "I  shall 
no  doubt  read  of  one  of  those  mysterious  sacrifi- 
cers  of  whom  Britain,  I  am  told,  still  preserves  the 
monuments;  but  I  shall  see  him  sacrificing  men. 
That  would  be  a  spectacle  of  horror;  however,  let 
us  read  it." 

Saying  this,  Marie  read  with  repugnance,  knitting 
her  brows,  and  nearly  trembling,  the  following: 

"The  Druid  Adamas  delicately  called  the  shepherds  Pimandre, 
Ligdamont,  and  Clidamant,  newly  arrived  from  Calais.  'This 
adventure  can  not  terminate, '  said  he, '  but  by  the  extremity  of 
love.  The  soul,  when  it  loves,  transforms  itself  into  the  object 


CINQ-MARS 

beloved;  it  is  to  represent  this  that  my  agreeable  enchantments 
will  show  you  in  this  fountain  the  nymph  Sylvia,  whom  you  all 
three  love.  The  high-priest  Amasis  is  about  to  come  from 
Montbrison,  and  will  explain  to  you  the  delicacy  of  this  idea. 
Go,  then,  gentle  shepherds!  If  your  desires  are  well  regulated, 
they  will  not  cause  you  any  torments;  and  if  they  are  not  so, 
you  will  be  punished  by  swoonings  similar  to  those  of  Celadon, 
and  the  shepherdess  Galatea,  whom  the  inconstant  Hercules 
abandoned  in  the  mountains  of  Auvergne,  and  who  gave  her 
name  to  the  tender  country  of  the  Gauls;  or  you  will  be  stoned 
by  the  shepherdesses  of  Lignon,  as  was  the  ferocious  Amidor. 
The  great  nymph  of  this  cave  has  made  an  enchantment.'" 

The  enchantment  of  the  great  nymph  was  complete 
on  the  Princess,  who  had  hardly  sufficient  strength  to 
find  out  with  a  trembling  hand,  toward  the  end  of  the 
book,  that  the  Druid  Adamas  was  an  ingenious  alle- 
gory, representing  the  Lieutenant- General  of  Mont- 
brison, of  the  family  of  the  Papons.  Her  weary  eyes 
closed,  and  the  great  book  slipped  from  her  lap  to  the 
cushion  of  velvet  upon  which  her  feet  were  placed, 
and  where  the  beautiful  Astree  and  the  gallant  Celadon 
reposed  luxuriously,  less  immovable  than  Marie  de 
Mantua,  vanquished  by  them  and  by  profound  slumber. 


[269] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  CONFUSION 

II  faut,  en  France,  beaucoup  de  fermete  et  une  grande  6tendue 
d'esprit  pour  se  passer  des  charges  et  des  emplois,  et  consentir 
ainsi  a  demeurer  chez  soiane  rien  faire.  Personne,  presque, 
n'a  assez  de  merite  pour  jouer  ce  role  avec  dignite,  ni  assez  de 
fonds  pour  remplir  le  role  du  temps,  sans  ce  que  le  vulgaire  ap- 
peile  les  affaires. 

II  ne  manque  cependant  a  Poisivetd  du  sage  qu'un  meilleur 
nom,  et  que  m&liter,  parler,  lire  et  etre  tranquille,  s'appelat 
travailler.  —  LA 


URING  this  same  morning,  the  various 
events  of  which  we  have  seen  in  the 
apartments  of  Gaston  d'Orle'ans  and 
of  the  Queen,  the  calm  and  silence 
of  study  reigned  in  a  modest  cabinet 
of  a  large  house  near  the  Palais  de 
Justice.  A  bronze  lamp,  of  a  gothic 
shape,  struggling  with  the  coming 
day,  threw  its  red  light  upon  a  mass  of  papers  and 
books  which  covered  a  large  table;  it  lighted  the  bust 
of  L'H6pital,  that  of  Montaigne  the  essayist,  the  Pres- 
ident de  Thou,  and  of  King  Louis  XIII. 

A  fireplace  sufficiently  large  for  a  man  to  enter  and 

sit  there  was  occupied  by  a  large  fire  burning  upon 

enormous  andirons.     Upon  one  of  these  was  placed 

the  foot  of  the  studious  De  Thou,  who,  already  risen, 

[270] 


CINQ-MARS 

examined  with  attention  the  new  works  of  Descartes 
and  Grotius.  He  was  writing  upon  his  knee  his  notes 
upon  these  books  of  philosophy  and  politics,  which 
were  then  the  general  subjects  of  conversation;  but 
at  this  moment  the  Meditations  Metaphysiques  ab- 
sorbed all  his  attention.  The  philosopher  of  Touraine 
enchanted  the  young  counsellor.  Often,  in  his  en- 
thusiasm, he  struck  the  book,  uttering  exclamations  of 
admiration;  sometimes  he  took  a  sphere  placed  near 
him,  and,  turning  it  with  his  ringers,  abandoned  him- 
self to  the  most  profound  reveries  of  science;  then, 
led  by  them  to  a  still  greater  elevation  of  mind,  he 
would  suddenly  throw  himself  upon  his  knees  before 
a  crucifix,  placed  upon  the  chimney-piece,  because  at 
the  limits  of  the  human  mind  he  had  found  God.  At 
other  times  he  buried  himself  in  his  great  armchair, 
so  as  to  be  nearly  sitting  upon  his  shoulders,  and, 
placing  his  two  hands  upon  his  eyes,  followed  in  his 
head  the  trace  of  the  reasoning  of  Rene  Descartes, 
from  this  idea  of  the  first  meditation: 

"Suppose  that  we  are  asleep,  and  that  all  these  particularities 
— that  is,  that  we  open  our  eyes,  move  our  heads,  spread  our 
arms — are  nothing  but  false  illusions." — 

to  this  sublime  conclusion  of  the  third: 

"Only  one  thing  remains  to  be  said;  it  is  that  like  the  idea 
of  myself,  that  of  God  is  born  and  produced  with  me  from 
the  time  I  was  created.  And  certainly  it  should  not  be  thought 
strange  that  God,  in  creating  me,  should  have  implanted  in  me 
this  idea,  to  be,  as  it  were,  the  mark  of  the  workman  impressed 
upon  his  work. " 

[271] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

These  thoughts  entirely  occupied  the  mind  of  the 
young  counsellor,  when  a  loud  noise  was  heard  under 
the  windows.  He  thought  that  some  house  on  fire 
excited  these  prolonged  cries,  and  hastened  to  look 
toward  the  wing  of  the  building  occupied  by  his  mother 
and  sisters;  but  all  appeared  to  sleep  there,  and  the 
chimneys  did  not  even  send  forth  any  smoke,  to  attest 
that  its  inhabitants  were  even  awake.  He  blessed 
Heaven  for  it;  and,  running  to  another  window,  he  saw. 
the  people,  whose  exploits  we  have  witnessed,  hastening 
toward  the  narrow  streets  which  led  to  the  quay. 

After  examining  this  rabble  of  women  and  children, 
the  ridiculous  flag  which  led  them,  and  the  rude  dis- 
guises of  the  men:  "It  is  some  popular  fete  or  some 
carnival  comedy,"  said  he;  and  again  returning  to 
the  corner  of  the  fire,  he  placed  a  large  almanac 
upon  the  table,  and  carefully  sought  in  it  what  saint 
was  honored  that  day.  He  looked  in  the  column  of 
the  month  of  December;  and,  finding  at  the  fourth 
day  of  this  month  the  name  of  Ste.-Barbe,  he  re- 
membered that  he  had  seen  several  small  cannons 
and  barrels  pass,  and,  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  ex- 
planation which  he  had  given  himself,  he  hastened  to 
drive  away  the  interruption  which  had  called  off  his 
attention,  and  resumed  his  quiet  studies,  rising  only 
to  take  a  book  from  the  shelves  of  his  library,  and, 
after  reading  in  it  a  phrase,  a  line,  or  only  a  word, 
he  threw  it  from  him  upon  his  table  or  on  the  floor, 
covered  in  this  way  with  books  or  papers  which  he 
would  not  trouble  himself  to  return  to  their  places, 
lest  he  should  break  the  thread  of  his  reveries. 
[272] 


CINQ-MARS 

Suddenly  the  door  was  hastily  opened,  and  a  name 
was  announced  which  he  had  distinguished  among 
those  at  the  bar— a  man  whom  his  connections  with 
the  magistracy  had  made  personally  known  to  him. 

"And  by  what  chance,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
do  I  see  Monsieur  Fournier?"  he  cried.  "Are  there 
some  unfortunates  to  defend,  some  families  to  be  sup- 
ported by  the  fruits  of  his  talent,  some  error  to  dis- 
sipate in  us,  some  virtue  to  awaken  in  our  hearts? 
for  these  are  of  his  accustomed  works.  You  come, 
perhaps,  to  inform  me  of  some  fresh  humiliation  of 
our  parliament.  Alas!  the  secret  chambers  of  the 
Arsenal  are  more  powerful  than  the  ancient  magis- 
tracy of  Clovis.  The  parliament  is  on  its  knees;  all 
is  lost,  unless  it  is  soon  filled  with  men  like  yourself." 

"Monsieur,  I  do  not  merit  your  praise,"  said  the 
Advocate,  entering,  accompanied  by  a  grave  and  aged 
man,  enveloped  like  himself  in  a  large  cloak.  "I 
deserve,  on  the  contrary,  your  censure;  and  I  am 
almost  a  penitent,  as  is  Monsieur  le  Comte  du  Lude, 
whom  you  see  here.  We  come  to  ask  an  asylum  for 
the  day." 

"An  asylum!  and  against  whom?"  said  De  Thou, 
making  them  sit  down. 

"Against  the  lowest  people  in  Paris,  who  wish  to 
have  us  for  chiefs,  and  from  whom  we  fly.  It  is  odious; 
the  sight,  the  smell,  the  ear,  and  the  touch,  above  all, 
are  too  severely  wounded  by  it,"  said  M.  du  Lude, 
with  a  comical  gravity.  "It  is  too  much!" 

"Ah!  too  much,  you  say?"   said  De  Thou,   very 
much  astonished,  but  not  willing  to  show  it, 
'8  [273] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"Yes,"  answered  the  Advocate;  "really,  between 
ourselves,  Monsieur  le  Grand  goes  too  far." 

"Yes,  he  pushes  things  too  fast.  He  will  render 
all  our  projects  abortive,"  added  his  companion. 

"Ah!  and  you  say  he  goes  too  far?"  replied  M.  de 
Thou,  rubbing  his  chin,  more  and  more  surprised. 

Three  months  had  passed  since  his  friend  Cinq- 
Mars  had  been  to  see  him;  and  he,  without  feeling 
much  disquieted  about  it — knowing  that  he  was  at 
St. -Germain  in  high  favor,  and  never  quitting  the 
King — was  far  removed  from  the  news  of  the  court. 
Absorbed  in  his  grave  studies,  he  never  heard  of  public 
events  till  they  were  forced  upon  his  attention.  He 
knew  nothing  of  current  life  until  the  last  moment, 
and  often  amused  his  intimate  friends  by  his  naive 
astonishment — the  more  so  that  from  a  little  worldly 
vanity  he  desired  to  have  it  appear  as  if  he  were  fully 
acquainted  with  the  course  of  events,  and  tried  to 
conceal  the  surprise  he  experienced  at  every  fresh 
intelligence.  He  was  now  in  this  situation,  and  to 
this  vanity  was  added  the  feeling  of  friendship;  he 
would  not  have  it  supposed  that  Cinq-Mars  had  been 
negligent  toward  him,  and,  for  his  friend's  honor  even, 
would  appear  to  be  aware  of  his  projects. 

"You  know  very  well  how  we  stand  now,"  continued 
the  Advocate. 

"Yes,  of  course.    Well?" 

"Intimate  as  you  are  with  him,  you  can  not  be 
ignorant  that  all  has  been  organizing  for  a  year 
past." 

"Certainly,  all  has  been  organizing;  but  proceed." 
[274] 


CINQ-MARS 

"You  will  admit  with  us  that  Monsieur  le  Grand 
is  wrong?" 

"Ah,  that  is  as  it  may  be;  but  explain  yourself. 
I  shall  see." 

"Well,  you  know  upon  what  we  had  agreed  at  the 
last  conference  of  which  he  informed  you?" 

"Ah!  that  is  to  say — pardon  me,  I  perceive  it  almost; 
but  set  me  a  little  upon  the  track." 

"It  is  useless;  you  no  doubt  remember  what  he 
himself  recommended  us  to  do  at  Marion  de  Lorme's?" 

"To  add  no  one  to  our  list,"  said  M.  du  Lude. 

"Ah,  yes,  yes!  I  understand,"  said  DeThou;  "that 
appears  reasonable,  very  reasonable,  truly." 

"Well,"  continued  Fournier,  "he  himself  has  in- 
fringed this  agreement;  for  this  morning,  besides  the 
ragamuffins  whom  that  ferret  the  Abbe  de  Gondi 
brought  to  us,  there  was  some  vagabond  captain,  who 
during  the  night  struck  with  sword  and  poniard  gentle- 
men of  both  parties,  crying  out  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
'  A  moi,  D'Aubijoux!  You  gained  three  thousand  du- 
cats from  me;  here  are  three  sword-thrusts  for  you. 
A  moi,  La  Chapelle!  I  will  have  ten  drops  of  your 
blood  in  exchange  for  my  ten  pistoles!'  and  I  myself 
saw  him  attack  these  gentlemen  and  many  more  of 
both  sides,  loyally  enough,  it  is  true — for  he  struck 
them  only  in  front  and  on  their  guard — but  with 
great  success,  and  with  a  most  revolting  impartiality." 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  and  I  was  about  to  tell  him  my 

opinion,"   interposed   De  Lude,   "when   I   saw  him 

escape  through  the  crowd  like  a  squirrel,  laughing 

greatly  with  some  suspicious-looking  men  with  dark, 

[275] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

swarthy  faces;  I  do  not  doubt,  however,  that  Mon- 
sieur de  Cinq- Mars  sent  him,  for  he  gave  orders  to 
that  Ambrosio  whom  you  must  know — that  Spanish 
prisoner,  that  rascal  whom  he  has  taken  for  a  servant. 
In  faith,  I  am  disgusted  with  all  this;  and  I  was  not 
born  to  mingle  with  this  canaille." 

"This,  Monsieur,"  replied  Fournier,  "is  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  affair  at  Loudun.  There  the  people 
only  rose,  without  actually  revolting;  it  was  the  sen- 
sible and  estimable  part  of  the  populace,  indignant  at 
an  assassination,  and  not  heated  by  wine  and  money. 
It  was  a  cry  raised  against  an  executioner — a  cry  of 
which  one  could  honorably  be  the  organ  — and  not 
these  howlings  of  factious  hypocrisy,  of  a  mass  of 
unknown  people,  the  dregs  of  the  mud  and  sewers  of 
Paris.  I  confess  that  I  am  very  tired  of  what  I  see; 
and  I  have  come  to  entreat  you  to  speak  about  it  to 
Monsieur  le  Grand." 

De  Thou  was  very  much  embarrassed  during  this 
conversation,  and  sought  in  vain  to  understand  what 
Cinq-Mars  could  have  to  do  with  the  people,  who 
appeared  to  him  merely  merrymaking;  on  the  other 
hand,  he  persisted  in  not  owning  his  ignorance.  It 
was,  however,  complete;  for  the  last  time  he  had 
seen  his  friend,  he  had  spoken  only  of  the  King's 
horses  and  stables,  of  hawking,  and  of  the  importance 
of  the  King's  huntsmen  in  the  affairs  of  the  State, 
which  did  not  seem  to  announce  vast  projects  in  which 
the  people  could  take  a  part.  He  at  last  timidly  ven- 
tured to  say: 

"Messieurs,  I  promise  to  do  your  commission; 
[276] 


CINQ-MARS 

meanwhile,  I  offer  you  my  table  and  beds  as  long  as 
you  please.  But  to  give  my  advice  in  this  matter  is 
very  difficult.  By  the  way,  it  was  not  the  jete  of 
Sainte-Barbe  I  saw  this  morning?" 

"The  Sainte-Barbe!"  said  Fournier. 

"The  Sainte-Barbe!"  echoed  Du  Lude.  "They 
burned  powder." 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!  that  is  what  Monsieur  de  Thou 
means,"  said  Fournier,  laughing;  "very  good,  very 
good  indeed!  Yes,  I  think  to-day  is  Sainte-Barbe." 

De  Thou  was  now  altogether  confused  and  reduced 
to  silence;  as  for  the  others,  seeing  that  they  did  not 
understand  him,  nor  he  them,  they  had  recourse  to 
silence. 

They  were  sitting  thus  mute,  when  the  door  opened 
to  admit  the  old  tutor  of  Cinq-Mars,  the  Abbe  Quillet, 
who  entered,  limping  slightly.  He  looked  very  gloomy, 
retaining  none  of  his  former  gayety  in  his  air  or  lan- 
guage; but  his  look  was  still  animated,  and  his  speech 
energetic. 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  De  Thou,  that  I  so  early 
disturb  you  in  your  occupations;  it  is  strange,  is  it 
not,  in  a  gouty  invalid?  Ah,  time  advances;  two 
years  ago  I  did  not  limp.  I  was,  on  the  contrary, 
nimble  enough  at  the  time  of  my  journey  to  Italy; 
but  then  fear  gives  legs  as  well  as  wings." 

Then,  retiring  into  the  recess  of  a  window,  he  signed 
De  Thou  to  come  to  him. 

"I  need  hardly  remind  you,  my  friend,  who  are  in 
their  secrets,  that  I  affianced  them  a  fortnight  ago,  as 
they  have  told  you." 

[277] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"Ah,  indeed!  Whom?"  exclaimed  poor  De  Thou, 
fallen  from  the  Charybdis  into  the  Scylla  of  astonish- 
ment. 

"Come,  come,  don't  affect  surprise;'  you  know  very 
well  whom,"  continued  the  Abbe.  "But,  faith,  I  fear 
I  have  been  too  complaisant  with  them,  though  these 
two  children  are  really  interesting  in  their  love.  I 
fear  for  him  more  than  for  her;  I  doubt  not  he  is  acting 
very  foolishly,  judging  from  the  disturbance  this  morn- 
ing. We  must  consult  together  about  it." 

"But,"  said  De  Thou,  very  gravely,  "upon  my 
honor,  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean.  Who  is  acting 
foolishly?" 

"Now,  my  dear  Monsieur,  will  you  still  play  the 
mysterious  with  me?  It  is  really  insulting,"  said  the 
worthy  man,  beginning  to  be  angry. 

"No,  indeed,  I  mean  it  not;  whom  have  you 
affianced?" 

"Again!  fie,  Monsieur!" 

"And  what  was  the  disturbance  this  morning?" 

"You  are  laughing  at  me!  I  take  my  leave,"  said 
the  Abbe,  rising. 

"I  vow  that  I  understand  not  a  word  of  all  that  has 
been  told  me  to-day.  Do  you  mean  Monsieur  de  Cinq- 
Mars?" 

"Very  well,  Monsieur,  very  well!  you  treat  me  as 
a  Cardinalist;  very  well,  we  part,"  said  the  Abbe 
Quillet,  now  altogether  furious.  And  he  snatched  up 
his  crutch  and  quitted  the  room  hastily,  without  listen- 
ing to  De  Thou,  who  followed  him  to  his  carriage, 
seeking  to  pacify  him,  but  without  effect,  because  he 
[278] 


CINQ-MARS 

did  not  wish  to  name  his  friend  upon  the  stairs  in  the 
hearing  of  his  servants,  and  could  not  explain  the 
matter  otherwise.  He  had  the  annoyance  of  seeing 
the  old  Abbe  depart,  still  in  a  passion;  he  called  out 
to  him  amicably,  " To-morrow,"  as  the  coachman 
drove  off,  but  got  no  answer. 

It  was,  however,  not  uselessly  that  he  had  descended 
to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  for  he  saw  thence  hideous 
groups  of  the  mob  returning  from  the  Louvre,  and 
was  thus  better  able  to  judge  of  the  importance  of 
their  movements  in  the  morning;  he  heard  rude  voices 
exclaiming,  as  in  triumph: 

"She  showed  herself,  however,  the  little  Queen!"— 
"Long  live  the  good  Due  de  Bouillon,  who  is  coming 
to  us!  He  has  a  hundred  thousand  men  with  him, 
all  on  rafts  on  the  Seine.  The  old  Cardinal  de  la 
Rochelle  is  dead!  Long  live  the  King!  Long  live 
Monsieur  le  Grand!" 

The  cries  redoubled  at  the  arrival  of  a  carriage  and 
four,  with  the  royal  livery,  which  stopped  at  the  coun- 
sellor's door,  and  in  which  De  Thou  recognized  the 
equipage  of  Cinq-Mars;  Ambrosio  alighted  to  open 
the  ample  curtains,  which  the  carriages  of  that  period 
had  for  doors.  The  people  threw  themselves  between 
the  carriage-steps  and  the  door  of  the  house,  so  that 
Cinq-Mars  had  an  absolute  struggle  ere  he  could  get 
out  and  disengage  himself  from  the  market-women, 
who  sought  to  embrace  him,  crying: 

"Here  you  are,  then,  my  sweet,  my  dear!    Here  you 
are,  my  pet !    Ah,  how  handsome  he  is,  the  love,  with 
his  big  collar!     Isn't  he  worth  more  than  the  other 
[279] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

fellow  with  the  white  moustache?  Come,  my  son, 
bring  us  out  some  good  wine  this  morning." 

Henri  d'Effiat  pressed,  blushing  deeply  the  while, 
his  friend's  hand,  who  hastened  to  have  his  doors 
closed. 

"This  popular  favor  is  a  cup  one  must  drink,"  said 
he,  as  they  ascended  the  stairs. 

"It  appears  to  me,"  replied  De  Thou,  gravely, 
"that  you  drink  it  even  to  the  very  dregs." 

"I  will  explain  all  this  clamorous  affair  to  you," 
answered  Cinq-Mars,  somewhat  embarrassed.  "At 
present,  if  you  love  me,  dress  yourself  to  accompany 
me  to  the  Queen's  toilette." 

"I  promised  you  blind  adherence,"  said  the  coun- 
sellor; "but  truly  I  can  not  keep  my  eyes  shut  much 
longer  if " 

"Once  again,  I  will  give  you  a  full  explanation  as 
we  return  from  the  Queen.  But  make  haste;  it  is 
nearly  ten  o'clock." 

"Well,  I  will  go  with  you,"  replied  De  Thou,  con- 
ducting him  into  his  cabinet,  where  were  the  Comte 
du  Lude  and  Fournier,  while  he  himself  passed  into 
his  dressing-room. 


[280] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   TOILETTE 

Nous  aliens  chercher,  comme  dans  les  abimes,  les  anciennes 
prerogatives  de  cette  Noblesse  qui,  depuis  onze  siecles,  est  cou- 
verte  de  poussiere,  de  sang  et  de  sueur.— MONTESQUIEU. 

[E  carriage  of  the  Grand  Equerry 
was  rolling  rapidly  toward  the  Louvre, 
when,  closing  the  curtain,  he  took 
his  friend's  hand,  and  said  to  him 
with  emotion: 

"Dear  De  Thou,  I  have  kept  great 
secrets  in  my  heart,  and,  believe  me, 
they  have  weighed  heavily  there ;  but 
two  fears  impelled  me  to  silence — that  of  your  dan- 
ger, and — shall  I  say  it? — that  of  your  counsels." 

"Yet  well  you  know,"  replied  De  Thou,  "that  I 
despise  the  first;  and  I  deemed  that  you  did  not  de- 
spise the  second." 

"No,  but  I  feared,  and  still  fear  them.  I  would 
not  be  stopped.  Do  not  speak,  my  friend;  not  a 
word,  I  conjure  you,  before  you  have  heard  and  seen 
all  that  is  about  to  take  place.  I  will  return  with  you 
to  your  house  on  quitting  the  Louvre;  there  I  will 
listen  to  you,  and  thence  I  shall  depart  to  continue 
my  work,  for  nothing  will  shake  my  resolve,  I  warn 
[281] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

you.  I  have  just  said  so  to  the  gentlemen  at  your 
house." 

In  his  accent  Cinq-Mars  had  nothing  of  the  brusque- 
ness  which  clothed  his  words.  His  voice  was  con- 
ciliatory, his  look  gentle,  amiable,  affectionate,  his 
air  as  tranquil  as  it  was  determined.  There  was  no 
indication  of  the  slightest  effort  at  control.  De  Thou 
remarked  it,  and  sighed. 

Alighting  from  the  carriage  with  him,  De  Thou 
followed  him  up  the  great  staircase  of  the  Louvre. 
When  they  entered  the  Queen's  apartment,  announced 
by  two  ushers  dressed  in  black  and  bearing  ebony 
rods,  she  was  seated  at  her  toilette.  This  was  a  table 
of  black  wood,  inlaid  with  tortoise-shell,  mother-of- 
pearl,  and  brass,  in  an  infinity  of  designs  of  very  bad 
taste,  but  which  give  to  all  furniture  an  air  of  grandeur 
which  we  still  admire  in  it.  A  mirror,  rounded  at  the 
top,  which  the  ladies  of  our  time  would  consider  small 
and  insignificant,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  table, 
whereon  were  scattered  jewels  and  necklaces. 

Anne  of  Austria,  seated  before  it  in  a  large  armchair 
of  crimson  velvet,  with  long  gold  fringe,  was  as  mo- 
tionless and  grave  as  on  her  throne,  while  Dona 
Stefania  and  Madame  de  Motteyille,  on  either  side, 
lightly  touched  her  beautiful  blond  hair  with  a  comb, 
as  if  finishing  the  Queen's  coiffure,  which,  however, 
was  already  perfectly  arranged  and  decorated  with 
pearls.  Her  long  tresses,  though  light,  were  exquis- 
itely glossy,  manifesting  that  to  the  touch  they  must 
be  fine  and  soft  as  silk.  The  daylight  fell  without  a 
shade  upon  her  forehead,  which  had  no  reason  to 
1 282  ] 


CINQ-MARS 

dread  the  test,  itself  reflecting  an  almost  equal  light 
from  its  surpassing  fairness,  which  the  Queen  was 
pleased  thus  to  display.  Her  blue  eyes,  blended  with 
green,  were  large  and  regular,  and  her  vermilion 
mouth  had  that  under-lip  of  the  princesses  of  Austria, 
somewhat  prominent  and  slightly  cleft,  in  the  form 
of  a  cherry,  which  may  still  be  marked  in  all  the 
female  portraits  of  this  time,  whose  painters  seemed 
to  have  aimed  at  imitating  the  Queen's  mouth,  in 
order  to  please  the  women  of  her  suite,  whose  desire 
was,  no  doubt,  to  resemble  her. 

The  black  dress  then  adopted  by  the  court,  and  of 
which  the  form  was  even  fixed  by  an  edict,  set  off  the 
ivory  of  her  arms,  bare  to  the  elbow,  and  ornamented 
with  a  profusion  of  lace,  which  flowed  from  her  loose 
sleeves.  Large  pearls  hung  in  her  ears  and  from  her 
girdle.  Such  was  the  appearance  of  the  Queen  at 
this  moment.  At  her  feet,  upon  two  velvet  cushions, 
a  boy  of  four  years  old  was  playing  with  a  little  can- 
non, which  he  was  assiduously  breaking  in  pieces. 
This  was  the  Dauphin,  afterward  Louis  XIV.  The 
Duchesse  Marie  de  Mantua  was  seated  on  her  right 
hand  upon  a  stool.  The  Princesse  de  Guemenee,  the 
Duchesse  de  Chevreuse,  and  Mademoiselle  de  Mont- 
bazon,  Mesdemoiselles  de  Guise,  de  Rohan,  and  de 
Vendome,  all  beautiful  and  brilliant  with  youth,  were 
behind  her,  standing.  In  the  recess  of  a  window, 
Monsieur,  his  hat  under  his  arm,  was  talking  in  a  low 
voice  with  a  man,  stout,  with  a  red  face  and  a  steady 
and  daring  eye.  This  was  the  Due  de  Bouillon.  An 
officer  about  twenty-five  years  of  age,  well-formed, 
[283] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

and  of  agreeable  presence,  had  just  given  several 
papers  to  the  Prince,  which  the  Due  de  Bouillon  ap- 
peared to  be  explaining  to  him. 

De  Thou,  after  having  saluted  the  Queen,  who  said 
a  few  words  to  him,  approached  the  Princesse  de 
Guemenee,  and  conversed  with  her  in  an  undertone, 
with  an  air  of  affectionate  intimacy,  but  all  the  while 
intent  upon  his  friend's  interest.  Secretly  trembling 
lest  he  should  have  confided  his  destiny  to  a  being 
less  worthy  of  him  than  he  wished,  he  examined  the 
Princess  Marie  with  the  scrupulous  attention,  the 
scrutinizing  eye  of  a  mother  examining  the  woman 
whom  her  son  has  selected  for  his  bride — for  he 
thought  that  Marie  could  not  be  altogether  a  stranger 
to  the  enterprise  of  Cinq-Mars.  He  saw  with  dis- 
satisfaction that  her  dress,  which  was  extremely  ele- 
gant, appeared  to  inspire  her  with  more  vanity  than 
became  her  on  such  an  occasion.  She  was  incessantly 
rearranging  upon  her  forehead  and  her  hair  the  rubies 
which  ornamented  her  head,  and  which  scarcely 
equalled  the  brilliancy  and  animated  color  of  her 
complexion.  She  looked  frequently  at  Cinq-Mars; 
but  it  was  rather  the  look  of  coquetry  than  that  of 
love,  and  her  eyes  often  glanced  toward  the  mirror 
on  the  toilette,  in  which  she  watched  the  symmetry  of 
her  beauty.  These  observations  of  the  counsellor  be- 
gan to  persuade  him  that  he  was  mistaken  in  suspect- 
ing her  to  be  the  aim  of  Cinq-Mars,  especially  when 
he  saw  that  she  seemed  to  have  a  pleasure  in  sitting  at 
the  Queen's  side,  while  the  duchesses  stood  behind 
her,  and  that  she  often  looked  haughtily  at  them, 
[284] 


CINQ-MARS 

"In  that  heart  of  nineteen,"  said  he,  "love,  were 
there  love,  would  reign  alone  and  above  all  to-day. 
It  is  not  she!" 

The  Queen  made  an  almost  imperceptible  move- 
ment of  the  head  to  Madame  de  Guemenee.  After 
the  two  friends  had  spoken  a  moment  with  each  per- 
son present,  and  at  this  sign,  all  the  ladies,  except 
Marie  de  Mantua,  making  profound  courtesies, 
quitted  the  apartment  without  speaking,  as  if  by 
previous  arrangement.  The  Queen,  then  herself  turn- 
ing her  chair,  said  to  Monsieur: 

"My  brother,  I  beg  you  will  come  and  sit  down  by 
me.  We  will  consult  upon  what  I  have  already  told 
you.  The  Princesse  Marie  will  not  be  in  the  way.  I 
begged  her  to  remain.  We  have  no  interruption  to 
fear." 

The  Queen  seemed  more  at  ease  in  her  manner 
and  language;  and  no  longer  preserving  her  severe 
and  ceremonious  immobility,  she  signed  to  the  other 
persons  present  to  approach  her. 

Gaston  d'Orleans,  somewhat  alarmed  at  this  solemn 
opening,  came  carelessly,  sat  down  on  her  right  hand, 
and  said  with  a  half-smile  and  a  negligent  air,  play- 
ing with  his  ruff  and  the  chain  of  the  Saint  Esprit 
which  hung  from  his  neck: 

"I  think,  Madame,  that  we  shall  fatigue  the  ears  of 
so  young  a  personage  by  a  long  conference.  She 
would  rather  hear  us  speak  of  dances,  and  of  marriage, 
of  an  elector,  or  of  the  King  of  Poland,  for  example." 

Marie  assumed  a  disdainful  air;  Cinq-Mars  frowned. 

"Pardon  me,"  replied  the  Queen,  looking  at  her; 
[285] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

"I  assure  you  the  politics  of  the  present  time  interest 
her  much.  Do  not  seek  to  escape  us,  my  brother," 
added  she,  smiling.  "I  have  you  to-day!  It  is  the 
least  we  can  do  to  listen  to  Monsieur  de  Bouillon." 

The  latter  approached,  holding  by  the  hand  the 
young  officer  of  whom  we  have  spoken. 

"I  must  first,"  said  he,  "present  to  your  Majesty 
the  Baron  de  Beauvau,  who  has  just  arrived  from 
Spain." 

"From  Spain?"  said  the  Queen,  with  emotion. 
"There  is  courage  in  that;  you  have  seen  my  family?" 

"He  will  speak  to  you  of  them,  and  of  the  Count- 
Duke  of  Olivares.  As  to  courage,  it  is  not  the  first 
time  he  has  shown  it.  He  commanded  the  cuirassiers 
of  the  Comte  de  Soissons." 

"How?  so  young,  sir!  You  must  be  fond  of  polit- 
ical wars." 

"On  the  contrary,  your  Majesty  will  pardon  me," 
replied  he,  "for  I  served  with  the  princes  of  the 
peace." 

Anne  of  Austria  smiled  at  this  jeu-de-mot.  The 
Due  de  Bouillon,  seizing  the  moment  to  bring  for- 
ward the  grand  question  he  had  in  view,  quitted  Cinq- 
Mars,  to  whom  he  had  just  given  his  hand  with  an 
air  of  the  most  zealous  friendship,  and  approaching 
the  Queen  with  him,  "It  is  miraculous,  Madame," 
said  he,  "that  this  period  still  contains  in  its  bosom 
some  noble  characters,  such  as  these;"  and  he  pointed 
to  the  master  of  the  horse,  to  young  Beauvau,  and  to 
De  Thou.  "It  is  only  in  them  that  we  can  place  our 
hope  for  the  future.  Such  men  are  indeed  very  rare 
[286] 


CINQ-MARS 

now,  for  the  great  leveller  has  swung  a  long  scythe 
over  France." 

"Is  it  of  Time  you  speak,"  said  the  Queen,  "or  of 
a  real  personage?" 

"Too  real,  too  living,  too  long  living,  Madame!" 
replied  the  Duke,  becoming  more  animated;  "but  his 
measureless  ambition,  his  colossal  selfishness  can  no 
longer  be  endured.  All  those  who  have  noble  hearts 
are  indignant  at  this  yoke;  and  at  this  moment,  more 
than  ever,  we  see  misfortunes  threatening  us  in  the 
future.  It  must  be  said,  Madame — yes,  it  is  no  longer 
time  to  blind  ourselves  to  the  truth,  or  to  conceal  it — 
the  King's  illness  is  serious.  The  moment  for  think- 
ing and  resolving  has  arrived,  for  the  time  to  act  is 
not  far  distant." 

The  severe  and  abrupt  tone  of  M.  de  Bouillon  did 
not  surprise  Anne  of  Austria ;  but  she  had  always  seen 
him  more  calm,  and  was,  therefore,  somewhat  alarmed 
by  the  disquietude  he  betrayed.  Quitting  accordingly 
the  tone  of  pleasantry  which  she  had  at  first  adopted, 
she  said: 

"How!  what  fear  you,  and  what  would  you  do?" 

"I  fear  nothing  for  myself,  Madame,  for  the  army 
of  Italy  or  Sedan  will  always  secure  my  safety;  but  I 
fear  for  you,  and  perhaps  for  the  princes,  your  sons. " 

"For  my  children,  Monsieur  le  Due,  for  the  sons 
of  France?  Do  you  hear  him,  my  brother,  and  do 
you  not  appear  astonished?" 

The  Queen  was  deeply  agitated. 

"No,  Madame,"  said  Gaston  d'Orleans,  calmly; 
"you  know  that  I  am  accustomed  to  persecution.  I 
[287] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

am  prepared  to  expect  anything  from  that  man.  He 
is  master;  we  must  be  resigned." 

"He  master!"  exclaimed  the  Queen.  "And  from 
whom  does  he  derive  his  powers,  if  not  from  the  King  ? 
And  after  the  King,  what  hand  will  sustain  him? 
Can  you  tell  me?  Who  will  prevent  him  from  again 
returning  to  nothing?  Will  it  be  you  or  I?" 

"It  will  be  himself,"  interrupted  M.  de  Bouillon, 
"for  he  seeks  to  be  named  regent;  and  I  know  that  at 
at  this  moment  he  contemplates  taking  your  children 
from  you,  and  requiring  the  King  to  confide  them  to 
his  care." 

"Take  them  from  me!"  cried  the  mother,  involun- 
tarily seizing  the  Dauphin,  and  taking  him  in  her 
arms. 

The  child,  standing  between  the  Queen's  knees, 
looked  at  the  men  who  surrounded  him  with  a  gravity 
very  singular  for  his  age,  and,  seeing  his  mother  in 
tears,  placed  his  hand  upon  the  little  sword  he  wore. 

"Ah,  Monseigneur, "  said  the  Due  de  Bouillon, 
bending  half  down  to  address  to  him  what  he  intended 
for  the  Princess,  "it  is  not  against  us  that  you  must 
draw  your  sword,  but  against  him  who  is  undermin- 
ing your  throne.  He  prepares  an  empire  for  you,  no 
doubt.  You  will  have  an  absolute  sceptre;  but  he  has 
scattered  the  fasces  which  indicated  it.  Those  fasces 
were  your  ancient  nobility,  whom  he  has  decimated. 
When  you  are  king,  you  will  be  a  great  king.  I  fore- 
see it;  but  you  will  have  subjects  only,  and  no  friends, 
for  friendship  exists  only  in  independence  and  a  kind 
of  equality  which  takes  its  rise  in  force.  Your  an- 
[288] 


CINQ-MARS 

cestors  had  their  peers;  you  will  not  have  yours. 
May  God  aid  you  then,  Monseigneur,  for  man  may 
not  do  it  without  institutions!  Be  great;  but  above 
all,  around  you,  a  great  man,  let  there  be  others  as 
strong,  so  that  if  the  one  stumbles,  the  whole  mon- 
archy may  not  fall." 

The  Due  de  Bouillon  had  a  warmth  of  expression 
and  a  confidence  of  manner  which  captivated  those 
who  heard  him.  His  valor,  his  keen  perception  in 
the  field,  the  profundity  of  his  political  views,  his 
knowledge  of  the  affairs  of  Europe,  his  reflective  and 
decided  character,  all  rendered  him  one  of  the  most 
capable  and  imposing  men  of  his  time — the  only  one, 
indeed,  whom  the  Cardinal-Due  really  feared.  The 
Queen  always  listened  to  him  with  confidence,  and 
allowed  him  to  acquire  a  sort  of  empire  over  her.  She 
was  now  more  deeply  moved  than  ever. 

"Ah,  would  to  God,"  she  exclaimed,  "that  my 
son's  mind  was  ripe  for  your  counsels,  and  his  arm 
strong  enough  to  profit  by  them!  Until  that  time, 
however,  I  will  listen,  I  will  act  for  him.  It  is  I  who 
should  be,  and  it  is  I  who  shall  be,  regent.  I  will  not 
resign  this  right  save  with  life.  If  we  must  make  war, 
we  will  make  it;  for  I  will  do  everything  but  submit 
to  the  shame  and  terror  of  yielding  up  the  future 
Louis  XIV  to  this  crowned  subject.  Yes,"  she  went 
on,  coloring  and  closely  pressing  the  young  Dauphin's 
arm,  "yes,  my  brother,  and  you  gentlemen,  counsel 
me!  Speak!  how  do  we  stand?  Must  I  depart? 
Speak  openly.  As  a  woman,  as  a  wife,  I  could  have 
wept  over  so  mournful  a  position;  but  now  see,  as  a 
19  [  289  ] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

mother,  I  do  not  weep.  I  am  ready  to  give  you  orders 
if  it  is  necessary." 

Never  had  Anne  of  Austria  looked  so  beautiful  as 
at  this  moment;  and  the  enthusiasm  she  manifested 
electrified  all  those  present,  who  needed  but  a  word 
from  her  mouth  to  speak.  The  Due  de  Bouillon  cast 
a  glance  at  Monsieur,  which  decided  him. 

"Ma  foil"  said  he,  with  deliberation,  "if  you  give 
orders,  my  sister,  I  will  be  the  captain  of  your  guards, 
on  my  honor,  for  I  too  am  weary  of  the  vexations 
occasioned  me  by  this  knave.  He  continues  to  per- 
secute me,  seeks  to  break  off  my  marriage,  and  still 
keeps  my  friends  in  the  Bastille,  or  has  them  assas- 
sinated from  time  to  time;  and  besides,  I  am  indig- 
nant," said  he,  recollecting  himself  and  assuming  a 
more  solemn  air,  "I  am  indignant  at  the  misery  of  the 
people." 

"My  brother,"  returned  the  Princess,  energetically, 
"I  take  you  at  your  word,  for  with  you,  one  must  do 
so;  and  I  hope  that  together  we  shall  be  strong 
enough  for  the  purpose.  Do  only  as  Monsieur  le 
Comte  de  Soissons  did,  but  survive  your  victory. 
Side  with  me,  as  you  did  with  Monsieur  de  Mont- 
morency,  but  leap  the  ditch." 

Gaston  felt  the  point  of  this.  He  called  to  mind 
the  well-known  incident  when  the  unfortunate  rebel  of 
Castelnaudary  leaped  almost  alone  a  large  ditch,  and 
found  on  the  other  side  seventeen  wounds,  a  prison, 
and  death  in  the  sight  of  Monsieur,  who  remained 
motionless  with  his  army.  In  the  rapidity  of  the 
Queen's  enunciation  he  had  not  time  to  examine 
[290] 


CINQ-MARS 

whether  she  had  employed  this  expression  proverbially 
or  with  a  direct  reference ;  but  at  all  events,  he  decided 
not  to  notice  it,  and  was  indeed  prevented  from  doing 
so  by  the  Queen,  who  continued,  looking  at  Cinq- 
Mars  : 

"But,  above  all,  no  panic-terror!  Let  us  know 
exactly  where  we  are,  Monsieur  le  Grand.  You  have 
just  left  the  King.  Is  there  fear  with  you?" 

D'Effiat  had  not  ceased  to  observe  Marie  de  Man- 
tua, whose  expressive  countenance  exhibited  to  him 
all  her  ideas  far  more  rapidly  and  more  surely  than 
words.  He  read  there  the  desire  that  he  should  speak 
— the  desire  that  he  should  confirm  the  Prince  and 
the  Queen.  An  impatient  movement  of  her  foot  con- 
veyed to  him  her  will  that  the  thing  should  be  accom- 
plished, the  conspiracy  arranged.  His  face  became 
pale  and  more  pensive;  he  pondered  for  a  moment, 
realizing  that  his  destiny  was  contained  in  that  hour. 
De  Thou  looked  at  him  and  trembled,  for  he  knew 
him  well.  He  would  fain  have  said  one  word  to  him, 
only  one  word;  but  Cinq-Mars  had  already  raised  his 
head.  He  spoke: 

"I  do  not  think,  Madame,  that  the  King  is  so  ill 
as  you  suppose.  God  will  long  preserve  to  us  this 
Prince.  I  hope  so;  I  am  even  sure  of  it.  He  suffers, 
it  is  true,  suffers  much;  but  it  is  his  soul  more  pecul- 
iarly that  is  sick,  and  of  an  evil  which  nothing  can 
cure — of  an  evil  which  one  would  not  wish  to  one's 
greatest  enemy,  and  which  would  gain  him  the  pity 
of  the  whole  world  if  it  were  known.  The  end  of  his 
misery — that  is  to  say,  of  his  life — will  not  be  granted 
[291] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

him  for  a  long  time.  His  languor  is  entirely  moral. 
There  is  in  his  heart  a  great  revolution  going  on;  he 
would  accomplish  it,  and  can  not. 

"The  King  has  felt  for  many  long  years  growing 
within  him  the  seeds  of  a  just  hatred  against  a  man 
to  whom  he  thinks  he  owes  gratitude,  and  it  is  this 
internal  combat  between  his  natural  goodness  and  his 
anger  that  devours  him.  Every  year  that  has  passed 
has  deposited  at  his  feet,  on  one  side,  the  great  works 
of  this  man,  and  on  the  other,  his  crimes.  It  is  the 
last  which  now  weigh  down  the  balance.  The  King 
sees  them  and  is  indignant;  he  would  punish,  but  all 
at  once  he  stops  and  weeps.  If  you  could  witness 
him  thus,  Madame,  you  would  pity  him.  I  have  seen 
him  seize  the  pen  which  was  to  sign  his  exile,  dip  it 
into  the  ink  with  a  bold  hand,  and  use  it — for  what? 
— to  congratulate  him  on  some  recent  success.  He  at 
once  applauds  himself  for  his  goodness  as  a  Christian, 
curses  himself  for  his  weakness  as  a  sovereign  judge, 
despises  himself  as  a  king.  He  seeks  refuge  in  prayer, 
and  plunges  into  meditation  upon  the  future;  then 
he  rises  terrified  because  he  has  seen  in  thought  the 
tortures  which  this  man  merits,  and  how  deeply  no 
one  knows  better  than  he.  You  should  hear  him  in 
these  moments  accuse  himself  of  criminal  weakness, 
and  exclaim  that  he  himself  should  be  punished  for  not 
having  known  how  to  punish.  One  would  say  that 
there  are  spirits  which  order  him  to  strike,  for  his  arms 
are  raised  as  he  sleeps.  In  a  word,  Madame,  the 
storm  murmurs  in  his  heart,  but  burns  none  but  him- 
self. The  thunderbolts  are  chained." 
[292] 


CINQ-MARS 

"Well,  then,  let  us  loose  them!"  exclaimed  the  Due 
de  Bouillon. 

"He  who  touches  them  may  die  of  the  contact," 
said  Monsieur. 

"But  what  a  noble  devotion!"  cried  the  Queen. 

"How  I  should  admire  the  hero!"  said  Marie,  in  a 
half-whisper. 

"I  will  do  it,"  answered  Cinq-Mars. 

"We  will  do  it,"  said  M.  de  Thou,  in  his  ear. 

Young  Beauvau  had  approached  the  Due  de 
Bouillon. 

"Monsieur,"  said  he,  "do  you  forget  what  follows?" 

"No,  pardieu !  I  do  not  forget  it,"  replied  the  lat- 
ter, in  a  low  voice;  then,  addressing  the  Queen,  "Ma- 
dame," said  he,  "accept  the  offer  of  Monsieur  le 
Grand.  He  is  more  in  a  position  to  sway  the  King 
than  either  you  or  I;  but  hold  yourself  prepared,  for 
the  Cardinal  is  too  wary  to  be  caught  sleeping.  I 
do  not  believe  in  his  illness.  I  have  no  faith  in  the 
silence  and  immobility  of  which  he  has  sought  to  per- 
suade us  these  two  years  past.  I  would  not  believe 
in  his  death  even,  unless  I  had  myself  thrown  his  head 
into  the  sea,  like  that  of  the  giant  in  Ariosto.  Hold 
yourself  ready  to  meet  all  contingencies,  and  let  us, 
meanwhile,  hasten  our  operations.  I  have  shown 
my  plans  to  Monsieur  just  now ;  I  will  give  you  a  sum- 
mary of  them.  I  offer  you  Sedan,  Madame,  for  your- 
self, and  for  Messeigneurs,  your  sons.  The  army  of 
Italy  is  mine;  I  will  recall  it  if  necessary.  Monsieur 
le  Grand  is  master  of  half  the  camp  of  Perpignan. 
All  the  old  Huguenots  of  La  Rochelle  and  the  South 
[293] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

are  ready  to  come  to  him  at  the  first  nod.  All  has 
been  organized  for  a  year  past,  by  my  care,  to  meet 
events." 

"I  should  not  hesitate,"  said  the  Queen,  "to  place 
myself  in  your  hands,  to  save  my  children,  if  any  mis- 
fortune should  happen  to  the  King.  But  in  this  gen- 
eral plan  you  forget  Paris." 

"It  is  ours  on  every  side;  the  people  by  the  arch- 
bishop, without  his  suspecting  it,  and  by  Monsieur  de 
Beaufort,  who  is  its  king;  the  troops  by  your  guards 
and  those  of  Monsieur,  who  shall  be  chief  in  com- 
mand, if  he  please." 

"I!  I!  oh,  that  positively  can  not  be!  I  have  not 
enough  people,  and  I  must  have  a  retreat  stronger 
than  Sedan,"  said  Gaston. 

"It  suffices  for  the  Queen,"  replied  M.  de  Bouillon. 

"Ah,  that  may  be!  but  my  sister  does  not  risk  so 
much  as  a  man  who  draws  the  sword.  Do  you  know 
that  these  are  bold  measures  you  propose?" 

"What,  even  if  we  have  the  King  on  our  side?" 
asked  Anne  of  Austria. 

"Yes,  Madame,  yes;  we  do  not  know  how  long 
that  may  last.  We  must  make  ourselves  sure;  and 
I  do  nothing  without  the  treaty  with  Spain." 

"Do  nothing,  then,"  said  the  Queen,  coloring  deeply; 
"for  certainly  I  will  never  hear  that  spoken  of." 

"And  yet,  Madame,  it  were  more  prudent,  and 
Monsieur  is  right,"  said  the  Due  de  Bouillon;  "for 
the  Count-Duke  of  San  Lucra  offers  us  seventeen 
thousand  men,  tried  troops,  and  five  hundred  thou- 
sand crowns  in  ready  money." 
[294] 


CINQ-MARS 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  Queen,  with  astonishment, 
"have  you  dared  to  proceed  so  far  without  my  con- 
sent? already  treaties  with  foreigners!" 

"Foreigners,  my  sister!  could  we  imagine  that  a 
princess  of  Spain  would  use  that  word?"  said  Gas- 
ton. 

Anne  of  Austria  rose,  taking  the  Dauphin  by  the 
hand;  and,  leaning  upon  Marie:  "Yes,  sir,"  she  said, 
"I  am  a  Spaniard;  but  I  am  the  grand-daughter  of 
Charles  V,  and  I  know  that  a  queen's  country  is 
where  her  throne  is.  I  leave  you,  gentlemen;  pro- 
ceed without  me.  I  know  nothing  of  the  matter  for 
the  future." 

She  advanced  some  steps,  but  seeing  Marie  pale 
and  bathed  in  tears,  she  returned. 

"I  will,  however,  solemnly  promise  you  inviolable 
secrecy;  but  nothing  more." 

All  were  mentally  disconcerted,  except  the  Due  de 
Bouillon,  who,  not  willing  to  lose  the  advantages  he 
had  gained,  said  to  the  Queen,  bowing  respectfully: 

"We  are  grateful  for  this  promise,  Madame,  and 
we  ask  no  more,  persuaded  that  after  the  first  success 
you  will  be  entirely  with  us." 

Not  wishing  to  engage  in  a  war  of  words,  the  Queen 
courtesied  somewhat  less  coldly,  and  quitted  the  apart- 
ment with  Marie,  who  cast  upon  Cinq-Mars  one  of 
those  looks  which  comprehend  at  once  all  the  emo- 
tions of  the  soul.  He  seemed  to  read  in  her  beautiful 
eyes  the  eternal  and  mournful  devotion  of  a  woman 
who  has  given  herself  up  forever;  and  he  felt  that  if 
he  had  once  thought  of  withdrawing  from  his  enter- 
[295] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

prise,  he  should  now  have  considered  himself  the  basest 
of  men. 

As  soon  as  the  two  princesses  had  disappeared, 
"There,  there!  I  told  you  so,  Bouillon,  you  offended 
the  Queen,"  said  Monsieur;  "you  went  too  far.  You 
can  not  certainly  accuse  me  of  having  been  hesitating 
this  morning.  I  have,  on  the  contrary,  shown  more 
resolution  than  I  ought  to  have  done." 

"I  am  full  of  joy  and  gratitude  toward  her  Majesty, " 
said  M.  de  Bouillon,  with  a  triumphant  air;  "we  are 
sure  of  the  future.  What  will  you  do  now,  Monsieur 
de  Cinq-Mars?" 

"I  have  told  you,  Monsieur;  I  draw  not  back, 
whatever  the  consequences.  I  will  see  the  King;  I 
will  run  every  risk  to  obtain  his  assent." 

"And  the  treaty  with  Spain?" 

"Yes,  I " 

De  Thou  seized  Cinq-Mars  by  the  arm,  and,  ad- 
vancing suddenly,  said,  with  a  solemn  air: 

"We  have  decided  that  it  shall  be  only  signed  after 
the  interview  with  the  King;  for  should  his  Majesty's 
just  severity  toward  the  Cardinal  dispense  with  it, 
we  have  thought  it  better  not  to  expose  ourselves  to 
the  discovery  of  so  dangerous  a  treaty." 

M.  de  Bouillon  frowned. 

"If  I  did  not  know  Monsieur  de  Thou,"  said  he, 
"I  should  have  regarded  this  as  a  defection;  but 
from  him " 

"Monsieur,"  replied  the  counsellor,  "I  think  I  may 
engage  myself,  on  my  honor,  to  do  all  that  Monsieur 
le  Grand  does;  we  are  inseparable." 
[296] 


CINQ-MARS 

Cinq- Mars  looked  at  his  friend,  and  was  astonished 
to  see  upon  his  mild  countenance  the  expression  of 
sombre  despair;  he  was  so  struck  with  it  that  he  had 
not  the  courage  to  gainsay  him. 

"He  is  right,  gentlemen,"  he  said  with  a  cold  but 
kindly  smile;  "the  King  will  perhaps  spare  us  much 
trouble.  We  may  do  good  things  with  him.  For  the 
rest,  Monseigneur,  and  you,  Monsieur  le  Due,"  he 
added  with  immovable  firmness,  "fear  not  that  I  shall 
ever  draw  back.  I  have  burned  all  the  bridges  behind 
me.  I  must  advance;  the  Cardinal's  power  shall  fall, 
or  my  head." 

"It  is  strange,  very  strange!"  said  Monsieur;  "I 
see  that  every  one  here  is  farther  advanced  in  the  con- 
spiracy than  I  imagined." 

"Not  so,  Monsieur,"  said  the  Due  de  Bouillon; 
"we  prepared  only  that  which  you  might  please  to 
accept.  Observe  that  there  is  nothing  in  writing. 
You  have  but  to  speak,  and  nothing  exists  or  ever  has 
existed;  according  to  your  order,  the  whole  thing 
shall  be  a  dream  or  a  volcano." 

"Well,  well,  I  am  content,  if  it  must  be  so,"  said 
Gaston;  "let  us  occupy  ourselves  with  more  agree- 
able topics.  Thank  God,  we  have  a  little  time  before 
us!  I  confess  I  wish  that  it  were  all  over.  I  am  not 
fitted  for  violent  emotions;  they  affect  my  health," 
he  added,  taking  M.  de  Beauvau's  arm.  "Tell  us  if 
the  Spanish  women  are  still  pretty,  young  man.  It 
is  said  you  are  a  great  gallant  among  them.  Tudieu  1 
I'm  sure  you've  got  yourself  talked  of  there.  They 
tell  me  the  women  wear  enormous  petticoats.  Well, 
[297] 


ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 

I  am  not  at  all  against  that;  they  make  the  foot  look 
smaller  and  prettier.  I'm  sure  the  wife  of  Don  Louis 
de  Haro  is  not  handsomer  than  Madame  de  Guemenee, 
is  she?  Come,  be  frank;  I'm  told  she  looks  like  a 
nun.  Ah!  you  do  not  answer;  you  are  embarrassed. 
She  has  then  taken  your  fancy;  or  you  fear  to  offend 
our  friend  Monsieur  de  Thou  in  comparing  her  with 
the  beautiful  Guemenee.  Well,  let's  talk  of  the  cus- 
toms; the  King  has  a  charming  dwarf  I'm  told,  and 
they  put  him  in  a  pie.  He  is  a  fortunate  man,  that 
King  of  Spain!  I  don't  know  another  equally  so. 
And  the  Queen,  she  is  still  served  on  bended  knee,  is 
she  not?  Ah!  that  is  a  good  custom;  we  have  lost 
it.  It  is  very  unfortunate — more  unfortunate  than 
may  be  supposed." 

And  Gaston  d'Orleans  had  the  confidence  to  speak 
in  this  tone  nearly  half  an  hour,  with  a  young  man 
whose  serious  character  was  not  at  all  adapted  to  such 
conversation,  and  who,  still  occupied  with  the  im- 
portance of  the  scene  he  had  just  witnessed  and  the 
great  interests  which  had  been  discussed,  made  no 
answer  to  this  torrent  of  idle  words.  He  looked  at 
the  Due  de  Bouillon  with  an  astonished  air,  as  if  to 
ask  him  whether  this  was  really  the  man  whom  they 
were  going  to  place  at  the  head  of  the  most  audacious 
enterprise  that  had  ever  been  launched;  while  the 
Prince,  without  appearing  to  perceive  that  he  remained 
unanswered,  replied  to  himself,  speaking  with  volu- 
bility, as  he  drew  him  gradually  out  of  the  room.  He 
feared  that  one  of  the  gentlemen  present  might  re- 
commence the  terrible  conversation  about  the  treaty; 
[298] 


CINQ-MARS 

but  none  desired  to  do  so,  unless  it  were  the  Due  de 
Bouillon,  who,  however,  preserved  an  angry  silence. 
As  for  Cinq- Mars,  he  had  been  led  away  by  De  Thou, 
under  cover  of  the  chattering  of  Monsieur,  who  took 
care  not  to  appear  to  notice  their  departure. 


END  OF  VOL.   I 


[299] 


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